Haunted by Bliss
by Constant Distraction
Summary: She struggled with acceptance, freedom, honor, war, and love, only to have her world crash around her. Andromache remembers her blissful life and love as Hector's wife, and all the memories that shaped her.
1. Slave to Sadness

**Haunted by Bliss**

Summary: Andromache looks back on her life as a slave in Greece, five years after the Trojan War ended.

Rating: PG13

A/N: I started this story years ago, and have since improved my writing, thankfully. I'll be going back and editing as I add more.

This is all from Andromache's point of view, and it's her telling her story from Greece, as a slave. Her story will span through most of her life, focusing on her time in Troy. The first chapter is basically introduction, it picks up during the second.

Okay, on with the show, enjoy!

Chapter One: Slave to Sadness

I am surprised you ask after me, stranger. I do not recognize you from my former life, and you do not seem to know me either. Forgive me for being guarded, but no one has inquired after me in five years. Surely you understand my wariness when being asked to relate my tale.

You must suspect something of my origins, or you would not ask. You are young enough that maybe you were raised on tales of my home. But then you must also know that there is nothing left of that. There is no one alive who envies my fate, or the fate of my people. There are some that show me pity, and some that still gloat over the destruction of my home. To me it does not matter. It is gone now.

You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I once had the appearance of royalty. Hector even went so far as to call me beautiful. My hair is limp now, but it once sparkled with diadems and jewels. My skin is too pale to be called lovely, and my eyes are too dark, but they used to hold a certain light to them. My looks befit my station; in a way, they still do.

I will not lie or try to hide what I've become. I am a slave and a concubine. I've grown accustomed to Neoptolemus' orders and demands. It was difficult at first, but I have been blessed with a master that is fond of me. He does not give me tasks that are too difficult. The only chore I truly hate is fetching water from the local spring. I cannot help but weep, for it is just as Hector foresaw. It is the time I feel the strongest rush of grief at his death, at the loss of the one man who could have kept me free.

But destiny, I have learned, always prevails, and neither love nor longing can change it. It is foolish to try. The gods may grant you bliss only to snatch it away in an instant.

You have not lost interest yet, stranger. If you truly wish to hear my tale, I will tell you, but I warn you it is not a happy one. There were moments, yes, but in the end, my fate drove me to a faraway shore, away from everything I loved. Bear with me now, and you shall hear the tale of Andromache, daughter of a broken city, wife to a dead husband, mother of a dead son. And you will understand why no one envies my fate.


	2. A Short Childhood

A/N: I'm going back and re-doing a lot of these earlier chapters, so if it doesn't make sense in relation to the next chapters, it's because I haven't gotten there yet. I'll try to include the date it was revamped on each chapter to make it clearer. Thanks for your patience!

**Revamped: 9/5/07**

* * *

Chapter Two: A Short Childhood

I suppose my childhood was much the same as that of any other royal child. It was not a particularly blissful childhood, but when I look back on it I feel a hazy, sweet nostalgia. We are only children once, and it seems like this time is far too short, especially for girls. Long before we can sit still without fidgeting, we are taught to weave. Before we are truly ready to part with them, we dedicate our favorite toys to Artemis. Then the talk of marriage starts and whatever was left of our childhood is abruptly replaced with a new man and children of our own.

I was born a princess of Cilician Thebe, in the southern part of the Troad. I was the seventh and last child born to my parents, King Eetion and Queen Eudocia. My parents' marriage was arranged, and they never bore any love for each other. Theirs was a marriage built on resentment and a constant struggle for power, and they never bothered to pretend to tolerate each other for their children's sake. I was also the only daughter my mother bore; the only girl among six strong sons. At times I felt somewhat removed from my brothers and wished for female companionship, but more often I enjoyed their presence. They all doted on me from the moment I was born, and I admired and respected them all. There was Euklides, the eldest, eleven years older than I. He was somber and tall, good with a spear and an excellent wrestler. Next was Dagamede, a year younger, broad and quick to release his booming laughter. The twins, Eurysis and Periphas, were two years younger, and I swear they could read each other's thoughts. They could communicate with glances, and to see them practice their swordplay was like watching one man compete with his own image. Terimede was six years older than I, swift and shorter than all my brothers, quick to anger but quicker to forgive. Arias was a year younger, my quietest brother, shy and sweet, with a beautiful singing voice. And Podes was a year younger than Arias, playful and competitive, with eyes the color of bronze. I loved them all fiercely, and I miss them even now.

When I was very young I was free to play with my brothers whenever I pleased. My parents knew that no harm would come to me, especially if my eldest brothers joined in whatever game we were playing. They, of course, were fond of war or hero games. I preferred to play ball games or with my dolls, but that was rare—a few times I convinced Terimede to play dolls with me, but he swore me to secrecy. Instead, we frequently reenacted the Labors of Heracles, Theseus' triumph over the Minotaur, and Perseus' slaying of Medusa. As the only girl, I always played the part of the hero's love, either Megara, Ariadne, or Andromeda. I preferred playing Andromeda. The fact that she married Perseus, the man she loved, instead of the man she had been promised to, may have had something to do with that.

As they got older, more of my brothers spent their days learning how to use weapons, and our games became less frequent. Seeing her opportunity, my mother began to teach me how to weave. I was five summers old, and I hardly remember that first lesson. I recall my chubby fingers tangling the wool, and my tears of frustration. My mother had a reputation as a stubborn woman, but even she could not remedy my lack of weaving skills—even now, I am ashamed of how long it takes me to weave an unflawed length of cloth. Soon, though, with great effort, I was able to weave three lines with no flaws, and so I was permitted to join the older maids while they wove.

It was in my mother's sunny weaving chamber, surrounded by maidens nearly a decade older than I was, that I was introduced to the world of women. These maids spoke freely, even when my mother was in the room. They were always kind to me, and graciously let me join in their discussions if I wanted to. Usually I had nothing to contribute—what did I know of cosmetics and impending marriages? Still, I enjoyed listening to their chatter, as it distracted me from the tiresome task of weaving.

I knew from my mother that when I was older, I would be married off to a prince or king, to help my city. I also knew I would have little choice in the matter, though that idea proved much harder to accept when the time came. Still, this marriage business seemed very far away for a five-year-old, so I did not give it much thought, until the maidens I wove with began discussing it. It was then that I learned that many people did not marry for the benefit of their family or city, but for love.

One of the oldest maids, Photine, could not contain her excitement over her wedding. As the day drew nearer, she rambled on about her beloved groom, and the other girls sighed over how fortunate she was to marry such a worthy man. The conversation eventually turned to the other girls, and the men they hoped to marry. I was utterly fascinated by their discussion. Some had chosen the husbands they would marry if they could, mostly based on their looks and wealth. Others claimed to be in love—one maiden boldly declared that she would marry her beloved farmer's son or no one at all. Only one girl was not enchanted by the idea of marriage, and that was because her father had promised her to a man much older than she was. "He's as ugly as an ox's rump," she complained. "He may be wealthy, but all the wealth in the world could not persuade me to show him affection."

I was intrigued by the idea of marriage, as these maids defined it. With only my parents as an example, I had assumed that marriage only served a political purpose. Never had I imagined marrying based on love, not necessity. As the maidens continued to talk, my interest grew, and before long, I shyly joined in the discussion.

"Do you truly love him?" I asked Photine. "Your father is not making you marry him?"

"I love him," she declared proudly. "I would not marry anyone else."

"Not even Nikomedes?" Thais teased, pretending to swoon. "Even if he were not rich I would marry him for his ocean eyes and charmer's grin."

"Nikomedes has used that smile on every maiden in Thebe with the same outcome," Photine countered. "I doubt you are willing to fight a crowd of girls for him! No, I will be happy with Agathon."

"What if you can't marry someone you love?" I wondered. Suddenly, I was curious about my own situation. I knew I would have very little input in choosing my husband—what if I was shackled to a man I loathed all of my adult life?

Hypatia, the most perceptive of the maidens, hurried to soothe me. "I have heard that over time, a wife learns to love her husband, and he loves her. My brother and his wife have been married for almost a year, and they are good friends now."

"A close friendship is better than love," Thais scoffed. "Can you imagine spending your life worshipping your husband?"

"You are only jealous," Photine snapped. "After all, you are promised to Seleucus, and he is always in a foul mood!"

The discussion rapidly deteriorated, leaving me curious and somewhat fearful. I could no longer ignore the issue of my future marriage. I was still far too young for there to be any serious talk of betrothal, but still I worried. Over the next few years, when my father mentioned any prince who did not yet have a wife, I latched on to the name and tried to imagine the man that went with it. Sometimes, I felt certain that the name belonged to a kind, handsome man. More often, I decided that the man in question was a brute. As I grew older I paid more attention to these names, but I could not imagine marrying or loving any of the men in question. I grew increasingly concerned about my unplanned nuptials.

I was fourteen when I dedicated my toys to Artemis, the Huntress. I prided myself on my new status as an adult. It wasn't until much later that I realized how immature and naïve I still was. At the time, I believed I was capable of handling anything—including my mysterious marriage.

Before long, my courage and confidence were dashed by seven winning smiles and a mess of pretty words. For when I was fifteen, the suitors came.


	3. Only Names

A/N: I'm trying a complicated, vaguely romantic plot. This is the setup. Let me know how it's working!

**Revamped: 9/29/07**

Chapter Three: Only Names

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I learned the names of my suitors on a breezy spring morning, shortly after I had passed the mark of my fifteenth birthday. I remember all seven names today. A maiden never forgets her suitors—it is impossible. She spends so long fretting over which man she will marry that she cannot forget their names and faces.

My father did little to put me at ease, although he did allow my mother into the council room with us. Standing across the room from her, he focused on me. In his normal abrasive way, he delivered the news.

"I have gotten word of several men who wish to court you," he said bluntly. "Seven, in fact. It would seem that word of your beauty has reached even the Achaean shores."

It was his attempt at a compliment, but I said nothing. The maids I wove with had often assured me that my looks would ensure that I had many suitors to choose from when the time came. You would not know it now, but I used to be beautiful. I did not possess the divine, icy beauty of Helen, of course, but I was well formed, with attractive features. My hair was darker than it is now, a deep brown that fell in loose curls. My skin was light, but not as pale or sickly as it is now. I have always been a bit too slender, but I was not bony or gaunt. Perhaps the only things about my appearance that have remained the same are my eyes. They have retained their green-gold color, and the exotic shape rarely seen in Achaea, though they look older now, and somewhat darker.

"Truly, you have done well. All seven men are princes," my father continued. "Would you like their names? They will come soon. You do not want to disgrace yourself by forgetting their names."

"Tell me," I replied, my voice miraculously steady.

"They are Xanthias, Megakles, Hector, Orontes, Leandros, Thadeus, and Damacio," he said, and I repeated them all quickly in my head. "They will all be here within a month, and you must be ready. I expect your mother can instruct you on how to behave," he said, with a glance at her. "You will be married before summer is over." 

With that, he left the room, leaving me with seven names and taking away my life as a free, unconcerned maiden.

Mother crossed the room to take my hands. "My darling, I expect you will have some choice in this. With seven men…"

"I will marry whoever can offer the most to Thebe, and hope he is not horrible," I corrected her. "Help me. All I have are these names."

"I will ask what cities they are from, if you like."

"I do not want to know their cities!" I cried, exasperated. "I want to know their hopes, their minds! I want to know if they are kind, what angers them—what they are like when they do not have to show off for a princess and her father!"

"All we have are names," Mother said, her stubbornness failing to mask her sorrow. "Tell me the first."

I swallowed to clear the growing knot in my throat. "Xanthias."

"It means yellow, I think. Achaean language is a bit different from ours, especially with so many dialects. But he is probably handsome," she assured me. "Give me another."

"Megakles."

"A large man. Perhaps he was an enormous baby and grew to a normal size."

"Hector."

"To hold fast."

Images of a faceless suitor's arms flashed through my mind, strong arms that encircled my waist and did not let go.

"Orontes."

Confusion passed over my mother's features. "That one I do not know. Give me another."

"Leandros—oh, lion-man."

"I doubt it means he is beastly; more likely, it is a reference to his courage," Mother said thoughtfully. "Two more."

"Thadeus and Damacio."

"Thadeus is praised, and Damacio means calf." She attempted a cheery smile. "He could have grown to be a mighty bull, though."

I could end up marrying a calf or a lion. I spent the rest of the day weeping bitterly.

The next morning my father expressed his disappointment that I had wasted an entire day mourning when I should be preparing to meet my suitors. "They could be here at anytime," he stressed. "You must learn how to present yourself."

My brother Arias placated my father, while Podes led me toward my mother's chambers, ignoring my protests. "I should not have to parade around," I snapped. "I am not some horse for sale!"

"Hush. We will see Mother later," Arias soothed. "I swear I will not let them treat you like a horse."

That brought a brief smile to my face, but a doubtful frown quickly replaced it. "Oh, Arias, I am not ready for this. I cannot impress seven princes, much less marry one."

"Andromache, you were born for this," Podes interrupted, grinning playfully. "Your name means 'battle of a man,' and now you shall be the cause of rivalry between seven!"

"You are not helping," Arias warned him. "Is Euklides in his chambers?"

"He'll be in Dagamede's rooms," Podes replied. "He goes to his own rooms as little as possible, now that Asenath resides there."

"She's lovely," I defended my brother's new wife. She was an Egyptian, the daughter of a high-ranking general. She was dazzlingly beautiful and very intelligent: she spoke enough of our language to converse easily, with me at least. She and my brother were incapable of having civil conversations, though. She either sat in stony silence when he talked to her, or screamed insults and hurled pots.

"She is lovely," Podes agreed. "But I pity our dear brother. I am glad that I have over ten years to adjust to this idea of marriage."

He meant no insult, I knew. Podes was never particularly talented at saying the right thing; that was Arias' job. "I wish you would consider your words before opening your mouth," Arias sighed, but he did not scold him.

Podes realized his mistake and blushed. "I apologize," he said to me.

"It is no matter. Tell me why we are visiting Euklides."

"Because," he replied, rapping smartly on Dagamede's heavy door, "our father's favorite son has more information on your suitors than you do."

The door swung open, revealing burly Dagamede. He motioned us inside, crushing me in an embrace. "You'll marry the kindest and best of your suitors," he announced in his booming voice. "I will not let some brute carry you off."

"There is only one brute, if I remember correctly, and his city would be a poor ally for us anyway," Euklides called from his seat at the window. "Thadeus is the third-born prince of Paphos, and his eldest brother has been king for a dozen years."

"How old is he?" Podes asked incredulously.

"Thadeus is nearing forty years of age," he answered, and I shuddered. "Do not worry, Andromache. Father will not marry you off to him."

"Why is he allowing him to come and try to win me, then?"

"For higher bride price," Euklides said truthfully. Arias placed a restraining hand on his arm, but he brushed it off and continued. "The suitors will be more willing to pay a high price when they see that they are competing against six others."

"Am I to be sold to the highest bidder?"

"In a way," Euklides responded. "But Father will consider the benefits an alliance with their city would provide before the bride price."

"I see."

Arias gave me a sad smile. "What do you know of the rest?" he asked our eldest brother.

"I know very little. I met Thadeus when I courted Asenath; the others I do not know personally. I imagine they will all be much older than you, sister. Unless he is the firstborn and needs heirs, most men do not marry until they reach thirty years of age."

"She knows," Podes said, as frustrated with the lecture as I was. "What about the rest?"

"I have not been able to weasel as much information out of Father as I had hoped," Euklides said apologetically. "Orontes is young, but I do not know where he hails from. Xanthias is from Achaea, but I do not remember what part. Megakles is, as well. He is a prince of Delphi. I know nothing of Hector, though Father seems particularly excited about him. I have heard that Damacio is handsome--"

"Wait," Podes protested. "Why is Father interested in Hector?"

"I know nothing," Euklides reminded him. He turned to Dagamede. "Do you know of him?"

"It cannot be the Hector I am thinking of," he replied thoughtfully. "He would be barely over twenty now, and he fought with us when the Spartans attacked Tenedos."

"Surely not…from which contingent?" Euklides asked, urgency and wonder in his voice.

"If you do not know who this Hector is, tell me of the others," I demanded impatiently. "Tell me of handsome Damacio."

"That is all I know of Damacio. Who is left?" He paused, shaking his head. "Oh, Leandros. He is the crown prince of Ephesus."

He knew no more, and I felt more frustrated than when I had entered the room. Slowly, the suitors were becoming real to me. Within the month, I would be able to identify them based on their accents, appearances, and personalities. Damacio would not merely be 'the handsome one,' and Megakles would be more than the Prince of Delphi. Each would be a potential husband. I would eventually wed and bear the children of someone I knew then only by name and my brother's scattered information.

"Andromache?" Dagamede peered at me intently. "You look ill."

"I am well," I lied. "I must go to Mother."

Arias leapt up to escort me. I thanked Euklides politely as we left. When we turned a corner, Arias stopped and put both hands on my shoulders. "I know this is difficult," he began calmly, and immediately I was sobbing.

"Names!" I cried. "All I have are names! I am marrying a stranger and I will never see you again!"

"You will see us again," he swore, pressing a kiss to my brow. "Even if you live in the farthest Achaean land, we will pay you a visit."

"I do not want to live in an Achaean city!" I sobbed louder, alarming him. "I do not want to live anywhere but here!"

"Darling sister," he began, sweet but firm. "You have never left Thebe, so you do not know the wonders that await. We love our home, of course, but there are cities beyond our shores that would leave you breathless." I quieted down. "Imagine if you were to live somewhere like Troy," he began.

"Euklides would know if I were being courted by a Trojan."

"Euklides knows nothing. Besides, I meant somewhere similar. You would be so happy, Andromache. Imagine raising your strong sons and daughters in such a place."

It was the image of children than calmed me, as much as the reference to that legendary city. For generations children have been raised on tales of Troy, although now the stories end sadly. For as long as I could remember I had heard about the land's beauty, its power, and its people, all told in voices slightly softened by awe. I drank these tales in as a child, and I know my brothers did too. Even my parents did not hide their fascination with Troy—I recall going with my mother to the market once, and looking at two identical urns, one made in Thebe, one in Troy. After little consideration she proclaimed that the Trojan one was better by far, and paid double the price of the Theban one.

I rubbed my eyes and plastered broad smile across my face. "Take me to Mother," I ordered, defeated.

So began a lifetime of lessons, thrust into a single month. Mother had never succeeded in teaching me to weave, but she was determined to mold me into a proper bride. I was instructed on how to act with my suitors, how to present my form to the best advantage, and how to make flattering small talk. The palace was cleaned, my brothers were forced to trim their beards, and I was assaulted with powder, lip stain, and kohl. I do not remember the details of the hurried preparations. To me it was a long blur of anxiety and disbelief, all leading up to the point where I, bewildered and decked in jewels, was paraded out in front of my seven suitors.

The first had arrived over a week before, but Father thought it would be more dramatic to present me to all the suitors at once. Already, the encouraged competitiveness Euklides had predicted was coming to pass. I felt seven pairs of eyes studying me intently, all with the desire to possess me, and I had to fight the urge to flee back to my chambers. As my mother had instructed me, I met each set of eyes for an instant. At first I found it difficult to hold their stares, even for a moment. There were three pairs of hazel orbs, one deep brown, two grays, and one blue. I barely glanced into the darkest eyes, feeling my gaze drawn to the piercing azure orbs next to his.

I felt a strange flutter deep in my stomach as the blue-eyed stranger offered a playful smile. I could not smile back; nor could I tear my attention from him. His wheat-gold hair, gleaming eyes, and confident smile mesmerized me. Beside me, Father listed off the names I had come to know as well as my own over the past month. Surely he stated their cities as well, but they did not register in my mind. Only one name sliced through my fascination.

It was Prince Damacio of Apollonia who had instantly captured my heart.

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	4. Adventures in Senselessness

**Revamped: 4/6/08**

Chapter Four: Adventures in Senselessness

Had I not been utterly entranced by Prince Damacio, I imagine I would still have been pleased with my suitors. With the exception of Thadeus, who was grizzled and burly, and Orontes, who was younger than I and incredibly smug, my suitors were a fairly handsome and kind lot. They were certainly not the monsters I had created in my mind. Perhaps I could have been content with any of them; I will never know.

But it was Damacio who rendered me senseless. His shining wheat-gold hair and deep aqua eyes had the same effect on me that, I have no doubt, they had on dozens of maidens before and after me. His youthful beauty was almost divine, and before we had exchanged a single word I knew I wanted to be his wife. I laugh at my girlish stupidity now, but I cannot properly express how serious I was at that moment. For the first time, I thought I understood what the maids I admired in my childhood had spoken of. I did not doubt that Aphrodite had smiled upon me, and blessed me with a man I could love. Indeed, she had.

I was quick to find flaws with the other suitors, so as to eliminate any possibility of a marriage in my mind. At the feast Father planned to welcome them, I scrutinized each prince, moving on to the next when I was satisfied that we would be a terrible match.

Of course, I was ruthless and unfair. If my unfortunate suitors knew my thoughts, they would have thought twice about marrying a princess so critical. Xanthias, though very pretty, wore a vacant expression that betrayed his dimness. While he was polite enough, he struggled to answer even the simplest questions about his home and family. Megakles was entertaining, but I knew that his jests and grating voice would annoy me to no end. Poor Leandros was too solemn and too uncomfortable. When Megakles jested with him, his bewildered expression revealed that he took him seriously. Orontes was scrawny and arrogant, with a scowl affixed to his pointed features. He made no secret of his appreciation for the maids serving wine and food. And Thadeus, though jovial, was far too old for me to even consider. I even found fault with Hector, though I had to use somewhat irrational logic to rule him out. He was handsome and charming, but his muscled arms, still mostly free of scars, betrayed the hardness of a warrior. When my brothers turned the conversation to warfare, Hector, though reluctant, contributed more to the topic than any other man. I decided that I simply could not marry a man who knew nothing but war.

Damacio, I decided, was perfect. I could not marry anyone else. I studied him as well, though not with the critical eye I subjected the other men to. Had I not been so dazed, perhaps I would have noticed that his clear blue eyes drifted too frequently to the pretty maidservants. If I had focused on what he said rather than on his smooth voice, I would have caught his boastful words and the cruel remarks designed to cause the other suitors distress. The Apollonian prince was not stupid; he was wonderfully kind to me, and I chose not to see beyond his façade. And because of my selective blindness, it took a mighty effort to expose his true personality to me.

As our appetites dwindled and our goblets were refilled with wine, the formality of the feast disintegrated. Musicians were brought in to lighten the mood. My brothers, who had surrounded me all evening, relaxed their guard, wandering off to speak to the princes. I expected the suitors to swarm around me, anxious for my attention, but they each waited on an opportunity to sidle up to my father. It seemed they knew exactly how much choice I had in the matter of my marriage.

While Xanthias and Megakles vied for the attention of my father, Leandros worked up the courage to speak to me. After shifting nervously from side to side, he darted forward. "Thebe is very impressive," he informed me. Before I could thank him, he continued. "In fact, I know much about your city. I know your most successful export is grain, followed by livestock—mostly poultry—and pottery. I'm quite fond of Theban pottery," he gasped.

"Is pottery Thebe's greatest treasure, then?" I recognized the voice even before I laid eyes on the lean body and shining hair. Damacio had come to my rescue.

Poor Leandros did not know what to say. "Yes?"

Damacio stared into my eyes in a manner that I'm sure my brothers would have thought was inappropriate, had they seen it. "I disagree," he said softly.

Leandros struggled to regain my attention. "Oh? Then what, exactly, is Thebe's greatest treasure? Its livestock?" He let loose an awkward laugh.

Still holding my gaze, resplendent in his boldness, Damacio answered. "Its princess, of course."

My stomach flipped over itself, sending waves of heat to my face. I could have basked in that moment for an eternity. It was over too quickly, though. Leandros shuffled off just as Xanthias and Megakles left my father's side, and Damacio leapt at the chance to make a favorable impression on him. With a nod to me, he hurried away. I let him go, telling myself his time was better spent winning over my father. After all, he had already won my heart.

I watched him glide across the room, making no attempt to hide my smile. To my surprise, I found I was not the only one staring. Euklides' beautiful wife, Asenath, was glaring at him with a look of fury she normally reserved for my eldest brother.

He nodded to her and she spun on her heel, parting the crowd as she stormed toward the door. Euklides caught her wrist, clearly embarrassed by her rage, and she bestowed him with the same look of hatred. He dropped her hand and she vanished through the corridor. I pondered her hasty departure for a moment before forgetting it entirely. We had all grown accustomed to Asenath's temper.

I left the hall before the evening truly concluded. I had no more chances to speak with Damacio, and I grew weary of maintaining conversations with Megakles, Orontes, and Xanthias. Thadeus and Hector retired early, and Leandros was clearly too ashamed by our first conversation to attempt another. I pleaded fatigue and abandoned our guests, but in truth, I was deliciously awake. I wanted nothing more than to discuss the suitors, especially Damacio, with my brothers, but they stayed in the hall and showed no signs of leaving. I had no desire to wait for them with Asenath, and I knew my mother would be asleep, so I snatched up a cloak and ventured to the courtyard on my own to pass the time.

I strode silently to my favorite area, a secluded corner along the west wall, farthest from the palace. Our lazy gardeners almost never tended to the far bushes, fully aware that the royal family rarely wandered past the first line of fig trees. My brothers, save for Arias, did not have the patience to sit in the garden, and my mother preferred her private courtyard. I loved the overgrown corner. I used to spend hours there, curled up on the cracked bench, hiding from bustling palace life.

My mantle caught on the brush as I pushed my way toward the bench, rustling dry branches. I could make out the seat, pale in the inky darkness, but was startled by its appearance. It seemed shorter, disrupted by a shadowy form.

The intruder and I noticed each other's presence at precisely the same moment, but he was much faster. My scream had barely reached my throat when a broad hand was slapped over my mouth. "Please, do not call attention to me," the intruder breathed into my shoulder. Ignoring his request, I struggled. "Please," he said again. "I won't hurt you. Just do not scream."

Maybe I had known instinctively that I could trust the man who restrained me. I like to think that my intuition knew more about my suitors than I consciously did. Whatever the reason, I stopped struggling, and as promised, the man released me. "I apologize," he said, backing away. "I know guests are not supposed to sneak into their hosts' gardens, but I could not sleep. I am here courting the princess, and…" he sighed, turning. The dim starlight reflected off his hair as he ran one nervous hand through it, and I recognized one of my suitors. Hector, prince of some far-off land I hadn't paid attention to. "Really, this would be a terrible time to make a wrong impression."

I said nothing. He had not recognized me, and I intended to keep my identity hidden. He mistook my silence for anger and embarked on another round of profuse apologies. Perhaps he thought I was a maidservant, creeping into the garden for a secret meeting with a lover. Perhaps he simply thought I was crazed. Whatever the case, it seemed he was prepared to apologize until dawn. I decided I would await my brothers elsewhere. "I forgive you, and I will not alert the guards," I told him, securing my cloak tighter around my face. When backing out of the area, I failed to notice that the cloth was deeply entangled in the brush. The pin holding my mantle around me gave at the slightest tug, and quite suddenly, the fabric pooled on the ground and my identity was exposed in the starlight.

It could have been worse, I thought later. If the pins holding my gown were not so strong, Hector would have seen more of me on our first meeting than he anticipated!

"Princess Andromache," he gasped, and I wondered if he was blushing as fiercely as I was. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell. I was overcome with the same urge to apologize that had plagued him a moment before.

"This does not matter," I told him firmly. "No one need know of it. I won't tell my family of this midnight visit. You have not made an unfavorable impression." I retreated slowly, panic boiling in my veins. In truth, I had more to fear from this unplanned encounter than he did. If word were to get out that I had a secret rendezvous with one of my suitors, I would be disgraced, and neither Damacio nor anyone else would accept me as a bride. "No one need know of this," I repeated, somewhat desperate.

"I won't speak of it," Hector said, and a rush of gratitude swept through me. I bowed my head in thanks and hastened my retreat. Just before I exited the courtyard, he called to me, his voice low and soft.

"Princess," he said. "Will it be Prince Damacio?"

Was his power over me so obvious? "I have very little say in my father's decision."

"If you were allowed to choose?"

I hesitated, but decided against lying to spare his feelings. Were our situations reversed, I would appreciate an early warning. "I would choose him."

The silence that met my words seemed to fill the space between us, linking us through its weight. "Very well," came his answer, drifting from where my cherished broken bench rested. "I will not make a fool of myself by trying to woo you. Nor will I return home, though, so as to avoid questions from your family."

"Thank you," I whispered, genuinely appreciative of his sacrifice. The sudden departure of a suitor could have many explanations—a sick parent, unrest at home, the threat of enemies. We both knew that no matter the explanation he gave, I would be blamed for his disinterest. "Good night, Prince Hector."

"Good night, Princess," he answered. I waited for him to emerge from the brush, but there was no sign of movement. It seemed my favorite place to think was now our shared haven.

I peeked into the hall on the way to my chambers, and was disappointed to see all my brothers still there, with no intention of leaving. Dagamede and Periphas were involved in an animated conversation with Megakles, while Podes dozed on the table next to Orontes. My remaining brothers, along with Xanthias, were playing a dice game on the floor. "My turn!" Xanthias cried gleefully. I doubted they would retire for several hours, and I realized, yawning, that I could not wait that long.

So I walked to my rooms, vowing to discuss the suitors with my siblings as soon as I woke the next morning. At the moment, I only wanted to fall into bed. When I reached my quarters, I saw that I would have to wait to enjoy my cozy blankets. Asenath waited outside my door, her fiery eyes scanning the hall.

For a moment, I panicked. Had she seen me with Hector, and if she had, would she misinterpret the situation? Would she tell anyone of our meeting? I reminded myself that nothing shameful had occurred. I kept my face carefully blank, but I was worried. Why was she here?

She did not speak until we entered my room, and even then, she checked to make sure the door was locked. Then she whirled to face me.

"Prince Damacio is evil," she hissed.

I calmly asked her to repeat her words, blaming her thick Egyptian accent—surely she had not accused my future husband of evilness. But she said the same thing again, with even more conviction. I stared at her, bewildered, wishing she would depart to her own chambers.

"Well, I thank you for the warning," I said politely. "But it has been a tiring day…"

"Please, Andromache, I am trying to help you," she insisted, clasping my hand. "Do you think you are the first maiden he has courted? Apollonia is in a weakened state, with its king ill and pirates constantly attacking. Damacio will do anything to strengthen its military and regain its riches."

Again, I did not see the problem. I was not so foolish as to think that Damacio courted me out of love, and I hoped our marriage would strengthen his city, if only to keep him happy.

"Apollonia has been troubled for years," I replied, relying on casual mentions my father had made, since I knew little of other cities, especially Achaean ones. "It will never reach its former glory, but if my marriage can make the city safer, so be it."

Asenath shook her head, clearly growing more frustrated. "That isn't the point! You are not the first maiden Damacio has charmed! He has stolen your senses!"

"Please, be reasonable," I murmured, the weight of exhaustion slowly creeping into my limbs. "He has not stolen my wits."

Gripping my shoulders with both her hands, the Egyptian glowered into my eyes. "Your darling prince was betrothed," she snarled. "Less than two years ago, he was mere days away from wedding an Egyptian noble, family of the High Priest. I knew her well. I would have been among those to prepare her on her wedding day."

I glared back, resenting her dramatic airs and the information she forced upon me. Why was she so intent on ruining my happiness?

Yet my fury was no match for her own; she continued, utterly unaffected by my anger. "A month before the wedding, though, the High Priest died peacefully in his sleep, taking the family's power and influence with him to the afterlife. No one thought of calling off the wedding, for the arrangements had been made, and the pair seemed like a good match—indeed, the bride was never fearful, but excited to be wed."

She looked down the hall again, though no footsteps had betrayed any other presence in the corridor. "She was found dead in her room, a few days before the ceremony," she whispered. "The prince set sail that same day. She was not a sickly maiden, but she was found in a puddle of vomit." She raised her eyebrows.

"Surely you are not suggesting that she was poisoned," I said. "Her death was tragic, yes, but not suspicious."

"One of her handmaids found wolfsbane in her wine."

I tried my best to control a shudder. My mother had told me of the gruesome death of her younger brother, who had eaten the toxic plant on accident as a child. I knew warriors often used wolfsbane to contaminate their enemies' water supply—indeed, the Trojans later worried that the Achaeans would use that tactic on them during the war, but ultimately decided that the enemies needed Troy's streams as much as they did. The poison was well-known; it could not have ended up in the noblewoman's wine by accident.

"Perhaps she was not excited for the wedding," I concluded. "I am sure plenty of brides would rather end their lives than start anew with a man they loathe."

Asenath's glare faltered, and she caught her breath. Had I unknowingly struck upon a personal truth? Suddenly I feared that she had her own dark collection of escapes from her loveless marriage. Her face crumpled, and her rage evaporated. "I have warned you," she said miserably. "It is in the gods' hands now."

And with that she slipped away, her proud Egyptian neck hanging low on stooped shoulders. Leaving her morbid tale in the shadows of the corridor, I entered my chambers and gladly sank into bed, where I dreamed of a dazzling golden-haired prince until dawn.


	5. Acceptance

A/N: Here's the longest chapter yet (still not too long, I don't have a great attention span) and probably the last for a while, because midterms make sane people turn into stress monkeys, and I wasn't sane to begin with, so you can imagine how well I'm doing at this studying business. Also, I had a billion ideas for this story, but they're mostly for the later sad chapters, because I'm a horrible person who likes to write pain. Ideas, suggestions, and reviews are all greatly appreciated.

This one's dedicated to my favorite teachers of all time, **G-funk** for stubbornly arguing with me about Troy (it did exist, no matter what he says), **Mr. Vanderburg** for being interested in my writing and my views on Orlando Bloom being a dancing whore, and **Ms. Laughlin** most of all, for reading all my Troy fics and helping me _immensely_ on this story and this chapter especially. Couldn't have pulled it off without you guys, though you may not know it.

Ok, and on with the show, thank you all for waiting, I know this update took longer than usual.

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Chapter Five: Acceptance 

The thing that I found most irritating about Hector in those first few days that I knew him was that he was so kind. He seemed to be truly interested in what I was like. And as his second day in Thebe wore on, it was getting increasingly difficult to hide my interest in him.

I had never met anyone like him. I had expected an arrogant, power-hungry prince from Troy, or a cold, detached soldier. As I spent more time with him, all I saw was how human he was. He was polite, and seemed intelligent, an ordinary man holding back some kind of glorious destiny. It intrigued me despite myself.

That day Eurysis and Periphas were the unenthusiastic chaperones to Hector and I, not that we needed any. I wasn't about to touch him, much less do anything dishonorable with him. As much as my twin brothers were the unwilling chaperones, I was the unwilling participant in the day's events. Only Terimede and Hector seemed to be enjoying themselves, the former more than the latter. Terimede fired questions at Hector, almost nonstop, about Troy and the famous tales of it.

"Are the walls really made of gold?" he asked skeptically. Hector shook his head, causing some of his unruly curls to bounce onto his brow.

"Not gold, white stone," he admitted. I watched his face carefully as he said it. From his expression, it was as if he knew his city had flaws, but knew of its good qualities and was holding back from boasting of them.

"And surely they aren't as high as cliffs," Terimede continued, crossing his tan arms across his chest.

"No, they truly are as high as cliffs," Hector corrected him. He shifted his attention to me, and I hurriedly looked away, not wanting him to know that I had been watching. "I'll let you form your own opinion about my city, Andromache, but I think you'll like it."

"I am sure I'll find it as fascinating as I find its prince," I said coldly. Eurysis and Periphas met each other's eyes, and Hector gave me an unhappy attempt at a smile. I don't think he was upset with me, just disappointed at my relentless cruelty. But I was tired of hearing about his city, and I wouldn't let myself think of it as my home.

Terimede seemed to be at loss for questions. Eurysis, sensing the tension in the silence, moved to end it.

"There are other forms of entertainment to pass the time, Prince Hector," he suggested with false cheer. "Hunting, perhaps, or-"

"No," Hector said, voice dangerously quiet. My head stayed down, but I met his eyes. "Thank you for the offer, but I'd like to retire to my chambers. It seems I have much to think over." He stood, icy gaze still locked on me, and inclined his head slightly. I shivered despite myself as he wordlessly strode away. To this day I don't think he meant to look at me that way, so coldly and darkly. The power and comprehension in that one glance made me feel ill.

It was Periphas who attacked me first. "What were you thinking?" he burst out. "Gods, Andromache, the bridal arrangements are being finalized tomorrow!"

"A nice way to start your married life," Eurysis added bitterly. "You can't get away from it! You're going to marry him, and you should make the best of it!"

Even Terimede was glaring at me. I was close to tears. I don't know what your family is like, friend, but in mine it was best never to cry. Growing up with seven strong brothers, crying is like an admittance of weakness of defeat. So as soon as I felt that suffocating lump ascending in my throat, I shot to my feet. "I'm sorry," I managed to choke out before lifting my dress a bit off the ground and running out of the garden.

I felt foolish for weeping, but all that had been going on had finally worn me down. The threat of leaving my home and family for a new land, a life with a man I hardly knew, was unbearable. To leave Thebe for a new life would take bravery. I was sure I had no such courage. For all my life I had contentedly done as I was told, stayed in my own sheltered world. At that point I wouldn't have traded it for Troy and all its riches. I never imagined how much my life would change when I left my home.

Destiny prevailed that day, for as I was rushing through the palace halls my brother Arias found me. I made little effort to wipe away my tears, knowing that he was the one brother who wouldn't laugh or be annoyed with them. He simply caught me in his arms and held me in a brotherly embrace.

"Hush, sister, calm yourself," he said gently, waiting for my sobs to cease before he spoke again. "Is it the marriage you fear?"

I nodded into his shoulder. "I don't want to leave," I whispered. It sounds strange, I know, but I felt like speaking too loudly would betray my cowardice to the rest of my brothers, or even to Hector.

"Of course you don't," Arias said. He loosed one arm from around me and bent awkwardly to place something on the floor.

"And now the twins and Terimede are mad because I insulted Prince Hector," I continued, unable to see what he had put on the ground. "Arias, he hates me. I've been so cruel to him."

"I've heard Hector is a very forgiving man," he said comfortingly, running his hand over my hair.

"He has no reason to forgive me," I said hopelessly, using one hand to rub across my wet eyes. The tears had stopped, but I still felt shaky. "Now he's reconsidering the marriage."

Arias' hand paused on my hair, and I heard him swallow heavily. He pulled away from me and his eyes flickered over my face, as if searching for something. "Well, if he doesn't want you, it's the gods will," he finally said. He was trying to disguise the sadness in his voice, I knew, and he was failing miserably. I didn't think it for the ruined marriage that he was sad, but for something much larger. He stepped back and took a deep breath, bending to slowly pick up the battle helmet he had set on the ground. "Just training," he assured me softly, for my concern must have shown on my face. "Don't worry yourself, sister. It is not certain that our enemies will strike again so soon."

No, it was not certain, but nothing ever is. I learned much later that our enemies to the east attacked a few weeks after our conversation, and that Arias took a grievous wound to his left arm. He could never again hold a heavy shield for long.

My conversation with Arias should have left me with some clarity, but I was just as confused and desperate as I had been, only I was no longer crying. I stayed in my chambers for most of what was left of the day, including supper. But when the sky was dark and Apollo had driven his chariot into the west, I went from my chambers to the garden I had been in earlier.

If you heard this part of my tale in Thebe, the maidservants would eagerly speak of an unbelievably romantic night. According to them, Hector single-handedly won my heart that evening, while I stood next to the fountain, the image of a perfect bride. The story also includes Hector picking a flower for me, which I sweetly accepted. Toward the end there's a passionate kiss between the two of us. The maids loved to share that part with anyone who would listen. My brothers weren't ecstatic about that particular part, I can tell you.

You look as though you don't believe it, friend. I'm glad you have some sense. That wasn't what happened at all, of course, but try convincing gossipy maids of that.

It is true that I was standing next to the fountain, only because I didn't want to sit on one of the benches. I had been sitting in my chambers weaving all afternoon. I was listening to the quiet movement of the water, which wasn't easily visible. Only a sliver of the moon was showing that night, so the garden was dimly lit with torches. As I stared into the fountain I had a thousand thoughts racing through my mind.

"I give up."

I knew the voice behind me, though I had only been hearing it for two days. It startled me out of my daze. "What?" I asked abruptly.

Hector didn't move forward, so I turned to face him. He was only a short distance from me, his hair even messier than usual. "I give up," he repeated. "I surrender, I'm finished, I'll try no more."

"You give up on what?" I asked dumbly, and even now I'm surprised at how his answer stung me.

"You. I give up on you." Hector stayed where he was and kept his voice impossibly level. "I've tried being kind, tried being patient or complimentary and nothing has worked. I'm sure you can tell by now that I'm not very experienced with women, but I know most aren't like this. You're as cold as stone, Andromache," he said bluntly. "The bridal arrangements are being finalized tomorrow. I was willing to pay the bride-price, but if you truly hate me, I'll say I don't want you as my bride, and you'll never be blamed."

His words sliced me like daggers. He was only speaking the truth, and I had never felt so ashamed. At loss for what to do, I chose to focus on the ridiculous part of his statement. "How would I not be blamed?" I asked. "If you reject me it is my own fault."

Hector shrugged. "I'll say I have decided to pick a bride of my father's choosing, or that some wood nymph has been found who bears my child. You wouldn't be at fault, I promise you that."

I was furious at myself for letting his words hurt me. I had decided not to let him break down my defenses, and it seemed that without my knowledge, he had.

"So you don't want me as your bride," I said flatly, and was relieved when he shook his head to disagree with me.

"I chose you for a reason," he replied softly. "But I don't want you to be unhappy."

It was all I wanted. He was offering me my life, the world I was accustomed to. I could stay and be free of the slavery they disguise as marriage. I could stay with my brothers and parents in the city I loved.

But I couldn't fool myself into thinking my life would be perfect. As Euklides had pointed out, there would be other suitors, and I'd end up with one of them. And if I truly loved my family and my city, I would marry Hector. Some part of me was already expecting a life in Troy, and I knew that I would regret it forever if I didn't go. That was the part I really hated, the fact that Hector had won part of me over so quickly. My mind pushed the image of Arias and his battle helmet in front of my eyes; Thebe needed strong allies, and if my comfortable life was forfeit, so be it.

Also, silly as it seems now, there was a hope in Hector's eyes, and I couldn't be the one to put it out.

I don't know how long I was silent for, but when I spoke Hector's head flew up. 'I don't hate you," I said slowly. "I'm sorry I was so cruel."

"There is nothing to forgive," he assured me. Maybe it was just my wishful mind playing tricks on me, but he looked happy. "So I shall make the bridal arrangements tomorrow?"

I could only nod. Hector took a jerky step toward me, closing the distance between us. He tentatively grasped one of my hands, and I didn't recoil. "I'll do my best to make you happy," he swore. I nodded again but didn't look at him. My hand fell limply to my side as he re-entered the palace.

I didn't go back to my rooms for a long while. I knew I had done the right thing for my city, but only time would tell if it was the right choice for me.

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Good stopping point, but never fear, I will continue. And thanks to all my reviewers, you have no idea what a review means to me! 


	6. The View from Troy

A/N: Thanks for being patient, everyone! Finals are eviler than expected. I don't think I did well on math or geology, but at least I tried. Anyway, winter break has started, meaning I'm updating again, as frequently as I can. There's a lot of stuff I want to say about the story and where it's going, but I'll leave that until the next chapter. To recap- Hector offered Andromache an out, but she's going to marry him anyway. Here we go again, enjoy!

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Chapter Six: The View from Troy 

One of the strangest experiences of my life was waking up on my first morning in Troy. I moved to the window immediately, and instead of seeing the familiar brown rooftops of Thebe, I saw the bold sunlight reflected off the shining Trojan walls.

It wasn't as if I hadn't had a period of transition. After Hector finalized the bridal arrangements, everything moved too fast for my liking. In only a few days, I found myself in my chambers with my mother as she struggled to comfort me. I hadn't shed a tear over the marriage since my talk with Arias, but she seemed to sense my sadness anyway.

"I know you'd rather have some choice in this matter," she said, and I did not correct her or tell her of my conversation with Hector. "But think of it- you will make a life for yourself in the most beautiful city there is!" Her voice had a peculiar strain to it. "I had the chance to live in Troy, once. A long time ago."

This was news to me. Maybe she was more interested in the legends of the city than she let on, but I had never noticed. "What happened?"

She worked her mouth into a tight smile, as if she wanted to seem like she was recalling an unimportant memory, but her voice told me that it was one she clung to. "King Priam was a suitor of mine, after his first wife, Arisbe, died," she said casually. "But then he met Queen Hecuba, so my father picked King Eetion for me instead."

As a daughter, I wasn't sure how to respond to her confession. Surely the thought of what could have been haunted my mother enough, and I didn't want to speak aloud what she had been thinking for years.

Mother seemed to want to take back her words as well. "What I want to say is that you'll love Prince Hector," she continued, regaining some of her composure. "You will be happy, like I am."

And that was so much of a lie that all I could do was put my arms around her. I knew she didn't like my father, at times even hated him. Her life was a far cry from anything resembling happy, and even she couldn't pretend to be content all the time. So I opened my mouth and made what I thought was a false promise, at the time. "I know, Mother. I'll be happy too. I promise."

The next day was when I departed from Thebe, and what can be said about that? Saying farewell was the hardest thing I thought I'd ever do. I left marks from my tears on every one of my brothers' shoulders, and on my mother and father as well, while Hector stood awkwardly off to the side. When he thought the Trojan wasn't looking, Dagamede slipped a sheathed knife into my hand.

"Not that I expect you'll need to use it," he said hastily before I could question him. "It's just better to be safe."

It was a beautiful knife. The wooden handle was carved with the design of a male centaur, holding a bow and a spear, with a quiver of arrows on his back. I treasured the knife when I was in Troy; when the city fell it must have been lost among the rubble, or else stolen by some Achaean. I'd rather it was lost in the city.

The worst farewell was to Podes. He had been watching Hector all the while, glaring with the eyes of a Gorgon. The suddenly he reached forward and snatched up my hands, speaking in a low voice laced with hate.

"Andromache. Don't worry. I'll come get you- I'll come to Troy and rescue you from that dog. I'll be there as soon as I can, and if you want, I'll kill him. We'll-"

"Podes, no," I broke in, all strength gone from my voice. I should have known that he would be the one who couldn't let go. "Stop. I will be fine."

Her wouldn't stop. The shadows in his eyes darted from me to Hector as his rage built up. "I swear I'll get you back, sister. You shouldn't be tethered into his power."

"Stop!" I cried, more desperately. "I'm going to marry him, and I'm going to be happy. I promised. I love you, brother, but you can't save me now."

The words I had meant to continue with, _I don't want to be saved_, died in my throat. Podes looked at me in disbelief. "I will," he vowed determinedly, completely ignorant of my pleas, and locked me in a tight embrace. He was the only person missing as the ship left. I suppose he couldn't tolerate seeing me sail away, but I wish I had been able to see his face among the rest of the people I loved as I left.

During the voyage I tried to concentrate on what my life was going to be like, rather than what I was leaving behind forever. As painful as it was, my life in Thebe was no more, and I could not dwell on it. The only link to my future was Hector. After a few days of mourning in my tiny room, I forced myself to go above deck, where Hector usually was.

It was absolutely impossible to find privacy on that ship. Fifty rowers sat no benches, and occasionally they'd switch out so they could each rest. Because of the sun beating down on them, they wore light clothing and told stories to each other, as if that helped them take their minds off the unbearable heat. Hector didn't partake in their humorous discussion that day. He was sitting at the back of the ship on an unused bench, with one sandaled foot propped up against the side of the ship. He was staring out over the side of the ocean when I came up to him. I didn't think he saw me, and was going to retire below deck again when he met my eyes and moved to make room for me on the bench.

"It's good to see you out of your cabin," he commented with a smile.

"I was feeling ill," I defended myself. It wasn't a total lie. The motion of Poseidon's waves sometimes left my stomach in coils. "I came up here to see how long it will be before we reach Troy."

"A few days, maybe less, depending on the wind," he stated. He knew there was more I wanted to say, and he waited silently until I spoke again.

"Tell me about your family," I asked lamely. Hector must have noticed the thick awkwardness between us, but it never seemed to bother him. I couldn't stand it, and I put an end to it before long.

His eyes continued roaming over the ocean, but eventually rested on mine. "Have you heard the rumors, Andromache?"

I thought back to the servants at the palace in Thebe. They had always been eager to provide unwilling listeners with endless, useless gossip. For once I was grateful for their annoying chatter. "I've heard rumors that King Priam has almost fifty sons," I answered, and was stunned when Hector nodded.

"This is the first time I've heard of the rumors being right. Usually they say that he has a hundred," he said thoughtfully, then added to his words. "Of course, not all of them are sons by his queen- my mother. And I have twelve sisters."

It was almost too much to hope for; I hadn't considered having friends in Troy. "Are any of them close to my age?"

Hector didn't answer for a moment. "Well, yes. Cassandra is only a bit younger than you are. But I think you'd find my cousin's company more pleasurable. Her name is Briseis, and she is close to your age as well."

It didn't seem right to ask why I wouldn't like Cassandra, so I hid my interest and waited impatiently for our arrival in Troy.

As Hector predicted, the winds favored us and we reached Troy inthree days. The legends did not do the city justice. To say it outshone every other city in every way still could not describe how amazing it was. The city was nestled behind a sandy beach, next to huge field of soft, gold grain, all guarded by two rushing rivers, the Scamander and the Simois. And the city itself, behind those steep impenetrable walls… every house, every street seemed to glitter. The citadel of Ilium was matchless, huge and impressive; the strong set of buildings seemed destined to rule over the houses below. On higher hills, temples could be seen, and the sun covered them in a pale yellow haze, creating an unreal tone to them. But the beautiful city was no illusion.

I wish I could describe how happy Hector was when we rode on a chariot through the thick gates. His grin was as bright as Troy itself. As he drove the chariot along the winding streets he put one hand behind my elbow, as if to steady me. I don't think he was even aware that he did it, but it comforted me more than I would have admitted to.

As we arrived at the citadel late in the afternoon, we were not greeted by as many people as would be expected. Only King Priam and Queen Hecuba were there to greet us, which quelled my nervousness a bit.

I watched in fear as Priam stepped forward. I thought he was going to pull Hector into a hug, but instead he took my hands in his frail ones and lightly kissed both my cheeks. "Welcome to Troy, my daughter," he said with a warm voice. I had never seen eyes like his- a chilly, stinging blue that somehow managed to portray only kindness. I mumbled my greeting with a shaky smile, and then Hecuba stole me away.

"Don't be nervous, my girl," she said with an almost devious smile. "I won't hurt you. It's been ages since I ate any princesses."

I laughed, and it was such a relief to laugh. I don't know what I had expected the King and Queen to be like, but knowing they were so kind took away most of my anxiety.

Hecuba didn't wait for Hector or Priam's approval before leading me to my rooms, which was strange to me then. In Thebe, even royal women were completely subservient to men. Troy was so different from where I came from, and the royal family was no exception. After promising that I would meet the rest of the family the next day, Hecuba left me in a guest room of the women's quarters, and I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

It was the next morning that I saw Troy instead of the Theban view I was accustomed to. It was then that my new life seemed real- almost too real. But there was no turning back.

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There ya go! Again, thanks for being so patient and I'll have more soon. 


	7. A Giant Welcome

A/N: I've got a few things I want to say in this chapter. First, thanks so much to everyone who reviews, it means a lot and influences the way this story is going! I'm sorry I had to quit responding (evil I wish I could, since it was nice of you to take the time to leave one.

Second, I'm not really following the movie Troy, because that's been done a lot and I see no way to improve upon it while still being original. I'm going more with the Iliad, and I'm not even strictly following that. There will be elements of both in this story. The war will last 10 years, but Helen won't come into it until the tenth year. Before that it'll just be the Greeks casually attacking Troy every year, and then going home. When Helen comes they'll attack more vigorously. Also, Briseis will be in this story still, as well as Aeneas, Cassandra, and Priam's sons, although it's impossible to go into depth about every one. And I'm trying to characterize Andromache a lot like Homer, Virgil, and Euripides made her, and I want to bring a lot of the elements of Homer's Hector into this story.

Also, I've written a oneshot called Destruction of Innocence, check that out because it has to do with 'The Laws of Brotherhood,' which is going to be sort of a companion piece to this.

That's about it, I just wanted to clear everything up. I still have a lot more story coming, so stay tuned, and thank you so much to those who have kept up with this story, as I spend a lot of time and effort on it!

This is chapter 6.9 because I hate the number 7, no other reason. Enjoy!

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Chapter Six Point Nine: A Giant Welcome 

I had been told that Hector had forty-eight brothers and twelve sisters. I tried to prepare myself for this before the midday feast, when I was supposed to meet the rest of Hector's family. Though it was a large number, I was confident that I could handle the meeting.

What I wasn't prepared for were the cousins. When Hector first politely escorted me into the great hall, the sheer magnitude of the royal family shocked me into submission. I allowed him to take my hand and lead me through the crowd to where Priam and Hecuba stood; how he found them in the chaos, I do not know. I remember him standing there, completely unfazed by the people. I stared up at him as he scanned the crowd, and then he turned his gaze on my, giving me a smile I didn't deserve.

"Sorry about all of them," he said, bending to speak into my ear, as it was nearly impossible to hear him. "There's no easy way to do this."

And still holding tight to my hand, he stepped onto the dining table, pulling me up with him, though I struggled. I shrunk back against his torso, overwhelmed by all the eyes on me. I hated myself for clinging to him, but he was the most familiar thing in all of Troy. I swear he laughed at me, but even years later he denied it.

"Brothers," he called out, and the room's occupants fell into a comfortable silence. Hector seemed to rethink his words. "And sisters, and cousins, and parents," he amended. "I present my betrothed, Princess Andromache of Thebe!"

There were cheers and clapping, and shouts of "Welcome!" I smiled, still overwhelmed, and summoned up the courage to wave at the crowd. As Hector leapt down from the table and helped me down as well, I muttered, "And I thought I had a large family," which only caused him to laugh. Later, when I was more comfortable around him, I loved his laugh. He laughed without restraint, and the infectious laughter would light up his eyes and soon have anyone close to him helplessly giggling as well.

As soon as my feet hit the floor a young manstrode up to me. He was younger than Hector, and smaller in stature, but he had the same (though much less messy) hair as his brother. Unfortunately, he did not have Hector's good looks. He grasped my hands in much the same way Priam had and bowed awkwardly. "If every maiden in Thebe has half your beauty, I may have to take a bride from there myself," he said jokingly, and I brushed his compliments aside with a laugh.

"Andromache, this is Deiphobus," Hector said, and Deiphobus gave a small smile before turning to Hector.

"You were gone far too long," Deiphobus chided him. "I think Father nearly went mad without his precious favorite son here." His words were casual enough, but they carried an undertone of resentment. He stepped closer, punching Hector's arm none too lightly as he did. "I've gotten stronger since you've been gone, brother. I tried wrestling."

"With who?" Hector asked skeptically, and a female voice cut in.

"With me," a girl said in disgust. She looked to be a bit younger than Deiphobus, with flowing brown hair and full lips. "He tried to get me to wrestle him, and I had to beat him at it so he'd stop pestering me." Her eyes lit on me and she flashed me a welcoming smile. "Welcome to Troy," she said kindly, moving closer. "I'm Briseis."

Hector seemed to remember something, and he dug into a pouch that hung at his hip. He pulled out a hand-mirror lined with pearly shells. "I found this for you in Thebe," he said, holding it out to his cousin. Briseis gasped and took it from his outstretched hand, cradling it carefully.

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, running her fingers over the shells. "What is the occasion?"

Hector shrugged, obviously delighted with her reaction. "I don't need an occasion to give a gift to my favorite cousin."

Briseis lifted an eyebrow. "Aeneas is your favorite cousin."

"That's what he thinks," Hector retorted. His eyes widened at the indignant cry that come from behind him. "But he's the best friend anyone could ask for!" he blurted out in an unsuccessful attempt to cover his words.

"I'm shocked," a smooth voice announced, and a man came in to view, about the same age as Hector. His wavy hair shone in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, and a crooked smile played on his lips. His eyes were a brilliant sapphire-blue, and when they stopped on me, I nearly blushed to be in the presence of such a handsome man. It sounds silly, I know, but I have seem many maidservants been affected by him as much as they have been by Paris or Hector. "Well, Hector, you aren't my favorite cousin anymore either," he said. Hector chuckled as Aeneas spread his legs apart and put his hands on his hips, giving Hector a mock haughty look. Hector crossed his own arms and tilted his head. "It seems we don't need each other anymore," Aeneas concluded.

"Indeed," Hector agreed coldly. Both men stared at each other for a long moment before Aeneas sighed and embraced Hector.

"You win this time," he conceded, slapping him on the shoulder before turning his full attention on me. He stared into my eyes, which strangely wasn't unsettling. Then he embraced me warmly, whispering in my ear so no one else could hear.

"If you need anything, my lady, or if there is anything you wish to know about Hector, call on me," he offered in a low voice. Then he was gone, leaving me wondering about his friendliness. "Creusa!" I heard him call to some maiden in the crowd.

"And these," Hector said to me, making his way to my side with a whole new hoard of brothers. "These are some of my brothers, Antiphus, Polites, Polydorus, Helenus, and Cebriones."Antiphus and Polydorus looked to be older than ten years old, and Helenus was probably only a bit younger than Paris, but Cebriones and Polites were still children.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to remember everyone's name," I admitted to Hector when the brothers had disbanded.

"Just call them all 'brother,' It's what I do," he replied. Next came a group of women and girls, who were introduced as Ilione, Laodice, Polyxena, and Creusa. I was desperately trying to commit every name and face to memory as Hector took me through the crowd to where Hecuba sat. He pried a boy from her skirts and hoisted him onto his hip.

"And this beautiful boy is Troilius," he told me. He couldn't have been much more than a year old. He draped one arm around Hector's neck and gazed at me with his huge brown eyes. He awarded me with a shy smile before turning his head and burying it in older brother's shoulder. "We're betting he'll turn out as handsome as a god," Hector said affectionately, ruffling the baby's soft curls. I didn't doubt it. He was the most adorable baby I had seen, at the time.

The afternoon was a blur of feasting and meeting more of my new family. When the celebration died down, Hector offered to escort me back to the women's chambers. "Just let me find the baby," he said. Troilius had been passed around to every member of the family, it seemed, and he had ended up in Paris' arms. Hector took him from his younger brother before walking me out of the hall.

"I want to give the nurse a break from watching him," he explained, then upon seeing the boy's face, added to his words. "Though it doesn't seem necessary now." Troilius had fallen asleep in his arms, with one chubby cheek resting on Hector's bicep.

I was half-listening, still trying to keep the names of all his siblings and cousins straight. "Did I meet everyone?'

He was silent for a moment, and I felt another cloud of awkwardness descend over us. He drummed his fingers on Troilius' back as if counting. "I think you have," he answered.

"Good. I doubt I can remember any more names," I confessed. Hector widened his lips in an attempt at a smile. He was hiding something, but at the time I didn't know him well enough to recognize it.

I hadn't met everyone. There was still one more name to remember, and the owner of it was waiting for me in my chambers.

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That's all for now. If you'd like to leave a review, your thoughts on the characters or overall story would be helpful! Happy Holidays everyone! 


	8. Watching and Being Watched

A/N: This chapter took longer to write than I thought it would, sorry! Hope everyone had a good holiday or winter break, and hope you all enjoy this!

This chapter is dedicated to **timezawastin**, for all the help she's given me on this story. She writes well, so go check out her story!

And I think I've mentioned this before, but I'll be writing a story that is sort of a companion to this one, only it's about Hector and Paris in the beginning, but Andromache comes into it later. It's called 'That Laws of Brotherhood' and I hope you'll read it. The prelude type thing to it is already up, and it's called 'Destruction of Innocence.' Please read and review!

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Chapter Eight: Watching and Being Watched 

After hours of warm, welcoming smiles, it was strange to see a face not bearing anything resembling a smile. The event was made even more peculiar because the face was attached to a body, sitting calmly on a low stool in my chambers.

I considered calling for Hector. He was going to put Troilius to bed after escorting me back to the guest chambers, and he couldn't have gotten far. But I kept my mouth tightly closed. I had already relied on him too much while meeting his family, and I wanted to keep as much of my independence as possible.

So I stood there, staring at the stranger. She was stunningly beautiful, the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen by far. Her skin shone with a golden hue, and her long hair was a vibrant brown with lights on gold and red to it. It was her eyes, though, that rooted me to the ground. They were huge, bright hazel, and they had an unsettling quality to them, as if they could see through any veil that was placed in front of them, or any wall.

"Andromache," she said, and even her low voice was haunting. She stood and glided to where I was frozen. "Forgive me for frightening you, but I had to meet you, to see if you were who I imagined."

The statement seemed logical when she said it. My throat was parched, but I managed to choke out a single word. "Cassandra?"

She never took her eyes off mine as she nodded. "Hector told you about me."

"No. He didn't say much," I answered, trying to make the strange event something easier for myself to understand, but not succeeding. "Why were you not at the feast?"

"I was not invited," Cassandra said calmly. She paced to the wide window and lifted her face toward the sun, closing her eyes as Apollo's rays caressed her face. "Even if I had been invited, I wouldn't have come," she continued, speaking as informally as if she were discussing clothes or food, not her life. "I make my family nervous. No one has told you about me?"

I lowered myself onto the stool she had recently evacuated. "No. I know only that you are Hector's sister."

She didn't laugh or do anything a normal person would so to put a new acquaintance at ease. "I don't live in one of the apartments," she started. Beside Priam's palace were two smaller palaces, both vacant. The larger of the two was for Hector and I, to be moved into after our wedding. Deiphobus coveted the second. palace. For Priam's other children,sixtygrand apartments circled the citadel. "I live off a narrow passageway in Father's palace, most of the time. Sometimes they lock me in the tower- they call me the mad princess." Her eyes locked on mine, as if expecting one reaction, but perhaps hoping for another.

"And are you mad?" I asked, not knowing what possessed me to ask that. The corners of her mouth widened slightly, portraying a bitter smile without actually giving one.

"Perhaps I am," she mused. "I am a priestess of Apollo, blessed by prophecy, and cursed by his wrath." She paused to move away from the window, deserting the sun's warm rays for the shadows. "My twin, Helenus, is a prophet as well, but everyone believes him."

I didn't respond to that; was there any way to answer? I was beginning to remember snatches of information I had heard in Thebe. Visitors to our city spoke of a crazy princess who had refused Apollo's advances. I had never thought to find her in Troy, but it seemed to fit. Troy seemed like a city that the gods favored, and the idea of gods visiting the Trojan people wasn't hard to imagine.

"Did you see Troilius?" Cassandra asked suddenly, ripping me from my thoughts. "They won't let me visit him anymore- I had a horrible vision at his birth. Is he doing well?"

I think it was then that I began to understand Cassandra. I was still wary of her at the time; I did not grow accustomed to her for awhile. When she spoke of Troilius, her eyes were filled with such love that one couldn't help but pity the way she had to live.

"He is well," I told her, and she relaxed slightly. She moved as fluidly as water out of the shadows, heading to the door.

"It was wonderful to finally meet you, Andromache," she said kindly when she reached the exit. It was a well-meant attempt at courtesy, and I appreciated it, though it sounded completely wrong coming from her. With a moment's hesitation, she was gone, and the sun grew dimmer after that.

I did not know whether to be intimidated by Cassandra or take her as a joke, like the rest of Troy did. _I am not Trojan,_ I reminded myself. I vowed to find Hector in the morning to talk to him about it. I was aware that I was becoming more and more dependent on Hector, and with all my heart I wanted to resist it. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't be in such agony now. But I was powerless to stop it; destiny had already set my marriage in motion.

Early the next morning, a maid knocked on my door. Fortunately I was dressed, normally I would have still been resting at that hour. "Yes?" I called.

A young, cheery maidservant poked her head into the room. "Prince Hector is here to see you, my lady," she reported with a smile, and then popped back out.

I tied my hair into a loose bun before leaving the women's chambers, making no attempt at beauty. In the hallway outside, Hector stood against the wall, with his hands crossed in front of him, looking every inch a prince. "Good morning," he said, pushing away from the wall with one foot. "I was wondering if you'd care to join me for the morning meal?"

With no hesitation, I gave him a small smile. "I would love to," I said politely. I lay my hand on his arm and we walked in what I'm sure he believed to be an amiable silence, until we entered a deserted corridor. "You lied to me," I said casually, and Hector stopped in his tracks. My hand slid off his wrist. Dropping my arm, I turned toward him with an expectant tilt of the head.

"What?" he sputtered.

"You didn't tell me about Cassandra," I prompted. "I met her last night."

Hector ran one hand through his hair, which has been neatly tied back with a leather strip. Now various curls sprang free, and their owner didn't notice. "You met her after the feast?" he asked.

I nodded, not sure what he was getting at. He broke out of his unmoving stance and continued walking through the hall, this time without holding out his arm. Unfazed, I walked at his side again, lengthening my stride to keep up with him.

"I went to her rooms so she could see Troilius," he explained. "But she was with you."

He hadn't responded to my accusation, and I wasn't going to let him weasel his way out of it. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" I asked again.

He turned so his eyes met mine for a brief moment, and his expression was one of skepticism. "How was I to know how you would react, Andromache? Cassandra is hated by many, even by her own family. When I told her about you, she was excited, acting like she already knew you. I didn't want to see her hurt if you acted like everyone else does."

He had slowed down a bit when he noticed how difficult it was for me to keep his pace. I tentatively lay my hand on his wrist.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I didn't know she wanted to meet me. But you should have known I would not hate her."

Those eyes met mine again, but this glance was even briefer. My heart was overcome by a wave of shame. I had said the wrong thing. We barely knew each other, and it was my fault for shying away.

The silence had grown unmistakably tense, but it was only a minute or so before we reached our destination. We were at the rear of Priam's palace, in a garden. It was lovely, with a few lemon trees heavy with the bright fruit, and some fig trees and vines. There was a white stone bench under one of the trees, and on that day, a picnic spread out in the center of the courtyard, guarded by a beaming Deiphobus.

"Good morning!" he called, hopping to his feet and offering me his arm, which I gladly took, wanting to end the tension between Hector and I. He gallantly led me to the area where the picnic was, waiting for me to sit before seating himself beside me. He waved Hector to the opposite end. I was impressed by his change in demeanor. Only the night before, he had been stiff and awkward. "This is the first time I've been asked to chaperone," he confessed with a grin. "Sometimes I'm the one who needs to be looked after."

Without even looking, he snatched a bunch of grapes out from under Hector's hand and brought them to his face, popping one casually into his mouth. Equally casual, Hector reached forward and stole the grapes back.

"What did you do that for?" Deiphobus asked indignantly, scowling. "There are plenty of grapes, yet you have to have the ones I wanted." He caught my eye and winked, a tiny, roguish grin splitting his lips.

Hector rolled his eyes and tossed the fruit back at his brother. Deiphobus caught them in one hand and made an expression of utter disgust, hurling them back at him.

"I don't want them now that you've touched them!" he exclaimed in mock horror. Shaking his head at the thought, he selected a new, bigger bunch of grapes.

It was hard to keep from laughing at his antics. I had noticed at the feast that Deiphobus seemed to linger by Hector, emulating him, eager for his praise. Hector did not seem to notice, or ignored him, but it was obvious that Deiphobus valued his brother's opinions and actions. Perhaps that was why he wanted his attention now.

"So, after meeting everyone, have you chosen a favorite relative?" Deiphobus asked jokingly. "If you choose me, I'll act shocked, I promise."

The question was so absurd that all the laughter I had been holding in burst from my lips. "I don't have favorites," I assured him while trying to control my mirth.

His face fell. "It's Aeneas, isn't it," he said sadly. I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me. "All the women love him," he continued, rolling his eyes and curling his lip. "Just because he's the son of Aphrodite."

I snapped my head to look at Hector. "Is he really?"

Hector shrugged. "That's the rumor. Aeneas himself doesn't speak of it much." He smiled at Deiphobus, whose arms were still crossed. He was still mouthing "Son of Aphrodite" and probably following the words with curses under his breath. "But then again, they say Deiphobus is favored by Apollo."

"I am," Deiphobus said, needlessly defensive.

"And you?" I asked my betrothed.

"Just Hector," he answered evenly, at the same time his brother started rattling off titles.

"Hector, the Crown Prince of Troy, the favorite of Ares, the Tamer of Horses, the favorite son-"

"Just Hector," he repeated, completely ignoring Deiphobus' semi-resentful ramblings. I agreed with his brother, though. Hector didn't think much of himself, but everyone else did. I was suddenly too aware I was marrying a hero, a man who was as much of a legend as Theseus and Herakles.

The rest of the meal passed quickly, and I managed to say all the right things on the walk back to my rooms, but in truth I was more worried about the marriage than I had been since arriving at Troy. Hector was worshipped in his city. And as his wife, I would be expected to uphold his great reputation, honor, and lineage.

I would be watched.

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I'm not sure when the next chapter is coming, because I haven't been very motivated, honestly. I'll try though, and as usual, reviews help! 


	9. The Ride of Friendship

**IMPORTANT:** The Tragic Bliss Awards, awards for H/A fanfiction, are going on now. I know we've all read some really great fics, so why don't you take a minute and nominate your favorites to the awards? You can even submit your own for judging. I've never read a bad H/A fic, so don't worry about a particular fic being "bad." Everyone has put a ton of effort into their stories (and into these awards, believe me) and it's time to get them some recognition. There's a link in my profile to the site, and all the info you'll need is in the bottom entry. From there, just post a comment with your email address in a review or comment, and I'll send you a submission form. It's easy and people will never forget you for it.

Thanks for nominating!

A/N: Unlike most fics, I'm going on the assumption that women generally didn't ride horses in the time of Troy. I've done a lot of research on this, and actually riding horses was rare, but it did happen with the men in Troy, and with most people to the east of Troy. So, in my story, Andromache doesn't ride horses and hasn't heard much about people riding them until she comes to Troy.

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Chapter Nine: The Ride of Friendship 

The freedom I had barely acknowledged during my first week in Troy slipped through my grasp long before I was ready to let it go. When Hector appeared in the hall one morning a few days after our breakfast, he wore a nervous look. He didn't bother to prepare me or try to soften the blow, either. "We are to be wed in a week," he said bluntly. "My father is arranging the ceremony already."

I stared at him while trying to convince myself to remain calm. _I expected this. This is what I came for,_ I reminded myself, feeling foolish. Some women never even saw their husband until their wedding day. I was lucky. I knew it then and I know it now. But at that moment, it was hard to accept. _I'll belong to Hector in only seven days._ His voice sliced into my thoughts.

"So are you ready to discuss marriage?" he asked firmly. I toyed with the folds of my skirt and pressed my back against the wall as I responded.

"I said I would marry you. What is there to discuss?" I said, looking at him carefully. He held my gaze with one of his own, and I could see a raw intensity in his eyes that he was trying his best to subdue.

"There is much to speak about," he assured me quietly. "Come. Walk with me." His stare flickered onto the door of the women's chambers pointedly before resting on my face again. The meaning was not lost on me- there were people listening to what he hoped would be a private conversation.

I nodded and stepped haltingly away from the security of the wall, and we began to walk. He was making every effort not to be ahead of or behind me, but cautiously at my side. And for wanting to discuss marriage so badly, he wasn't pursuing the subject.

"What is it you expect of me?" I finally asked. I was probably too blunt, but I don't think I offended him, as he answered honestly.

"I want you to treat me as you would treat a friend. Loyalty is all I ask," he said thoughtfully. "And if there is anything you want or need, I would have you tell me." There was barely any time for me to ponder this before he continued. "And what do you expect from me?"

I turned my shoulders to look at him, expecting a joking smile, but his face was serious. And expectant. "I don't demand anything from you," I said, supplying him with the only answer I could give.

He kept waiting for another response, then spoke to me again, and his eyes were sad. "Even if you truly expect nothing, I can promise to be faithful to you, and kind. I will love you as a husband should."

I wish now that I had replied differently, but all I could hear then was lies. "Stop," I growled, suddenly angry. "Don't you dare force yourself to love me. I never want to be loved that way. If we become friends, fine, we can share the love of friendship, but don't force yourself to love me more than that. I agreed to be your wife. Not something that commands your devotion."

His face was reflecting the bitter fire I felt. "So be it," he said coldly, without breaking his now stiff stride. "I will not love you as lovers would. But I will be faithful to you. My mother raised me to remain true to one woman, and I will do as I believe is right."

"Fine," I spat. Feeling the familiar silence descending upon us, I moved to end it at the same time Hector did. He spoke slightly faster.

"Do you ride horses, Andromache?"

"In a chariot?" I shot back, still wrapped in the hot ribbons of rage.

"No. On a horse," he replied, obviously still angry as well.

"That's nonsense," I retorted. "Horses are for chariots, not for a man to ride."

""Watch," Hector said, hurling his words back at me. He snatched up my hand and quickened his pace. Occasionally he would glare over his shoulder at me, and I would glare right back.

As soon as we reached the stables, Hector seemed to calm down a bit. He hurried to one of the stalls, where a dark brown stallion pawed the ground impatiently. The horse eagerly nuzzled Hector's head, and I began to understand why Hector's hair was in a constant state of messiness. "Hey there, Lampos," he crooned in a low voice, either oblivious to the fact I was there, or uncaring how crazy he appeared speaking to a beast. "How are you faring, boy?"

I watched skeptically, arms crossed, as Hector opened the door to the horse's stall and entered. He continued talking in that soothing voice as he took leather reins from a peg on the wall and eased the metal bit into the stallion's mouth. Lampos nudged Hector's back, and he obligingly led him out of the stall. Hector put a light hand on the small of my back to guide me forward, but I ducked away.

"You are _not_ going to lead me as you lead that horse," I hissed, but my heart wasn't in the warning. Humming softly, Hector shrugged and continued on his way out of the stables. Just beyond the east entrance, there was a large arena, circled by chest-height walls and blanketed in soft sand. He opened the gate and entered with Lampos, shutting it behind him and gesturing to the wall for me.

I rested my forearms on the warm stone and lay my chin on them, unable to hide my interest. Hector placed one hand on the horse's shoulder and lifted himself onto a small boulder. From that height, he swung his right leg over Lampos' back. He grabbed the reins as he settled himself onto the horse. Then Lampos swished his long tail and began trotting proudly around the arena. I raised my head in horror as the pair stopped near me.

"He is going to kill you," I stated matter-of-factly.

Hector's face spread into a grin as he began to laugh. He patted Lampos' thick neck. "No, he won't," he assured me. "They call me the Tamer of Horses for a reason."

With a final smile over his shoulder, he pressed his legs against the horse's side and leaned forward. Lampos took off, going so fast that both his mane and his rider's hair flew out behind them sailing in the wind. I was trapped in a thick mixture of disbelief, horror, and amazement. After thundering around the arena a few times, Hector pulled his horse to a sudden stop right in front of me.

"What do you think?" he asked, eyes still crinkled in amusement.

"Cocky," I muttered. He heard and raised his shoulders in defeat.

"Do you want to ride him?" he asked. Not for the first time that day, I decided he was insane.

"You're jesting," I tested him, but he shook his head and slid down from Lampos' back. "No! I'm not getting killed, Hector!" I protested as he opened the gate.

"You won't get hurt," he said. "I trained him myself." He took my hand, though I struggled weakly. Then, across the arena, I saw Aeneas leaning over the wall. He pointed at Lampos and nodded eagerly. I shook my head franticly, but he continued to nod at the horse. Hector frowned and turned to see what I was looking at, but Aeneas ducked behind the wall before he could see.

And what could I do then? I was already at the side of that enormous beast. "I'm marrying a madman," I said in despair.

"At least now it'll come as no surprise," Hector said mildly. After waiting for confirmation, his hands encircled my waist, and his strong arms lifted me effortlessly onto the stallion. I was up there for less than a minute before Hector hopped on as well, straddling me from behind. He wore a short tunic that made it easy for him to sit comfortably on the horse, but my long dress was hardly suitable for it. My legs were bare past the knee, where the cloth had been pushed up to. Anywhere else, it would have been considered indecent, but neither Hector nor the horse seemed to mind. Hector's bare legs were pressing up against the back of my own, and I forced myself to pretend not to notice, and not to blush. He reached one arm around my shoulders to pick up the reins, and the other arm snaked around my waist and stayed there.

"Weave your fingers into his mane- it won't hurt him," Hector advised. I slowly twined my fingers as I was told. "Ready?" he asked, his chin resting on my head.

"Yes," I mumbled, feeling numb and tingling all at once. I was too aware of his skin on mine, his hand on my waist. To him it was probably just common courtesy to help me stay on Lampos. But I hadn't experienced anything like it, and it was strange to me.

And then we were flying. I was slammed back, but I was stopped immediately by Hector's solid chest. I dug my fingers further into Lampos' mane and smiled as the wind whipped across my face. My heart was dancing faster than the horse's hooves, but it all mixed into one perfect rhythm. My laughter rang out like a song, and in the blur, all I saw was Lampos' neck, Aeneas' smile, and Hector's hands.

When we slowed, I was still laughing, smiling like I hadn't smiled in months. Hector was chuckling behind me. "So you liked it?" he asked.

"Yes!" I replied enthusiastically, petting Lampos' shining back.

"We can go for another ride later," he suggested, shifting the reins. Lampos obediently walked to the mounting stone and stopped there, allowing Hector to leap down from his back, and then turn to help me. He waited until both my feet were firmly on the powdery sand before removing his hands from my waist. As I strode out of the arena beside Lampos and Hector, I saw Aeneas, still standing where he had been. He clapped his hands together in silent applause, and I was as proud of myself as he was. I had let my defenses down for just a moment, forced myself to trust Hector. While the event was small, I hoped it was enough to start a friendship. And it was.

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Thanks for reading, and go nominate your favorite fics for the Tragic Bliss Awards. You're all H/A fans- go prove it! I just got the Troy DVD, must go watch it... 


	10. Attempts at Comfort and Prayers

A/N: I'm a terrible person. I know it's been ages since I updated, but I had my most severe case of writer's block yet. I still don't think I effectively got around it, because my Muse is curled up inside my fireplace, laughing hysterically and hurling fistfuls of cocoa powder at me. Occasionally she screams something like, "There is no Hector!" and I have to take away her bottle of rum and bash her head gently with a saucepan. I strongly suspect she's drunk.

Anyway, I don't think she'll be helping me out with this anytime soon, and I'm not doing so well on my own. I'm sorry if this short chapter doesn't live up to your expectations, but I think if I just get it out of the way, I can work on a spectacular marriage ceremony, so bear with me!

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Chapter Ten: Attempts at Comfort and Prayers 

Hector probably would have gotten defensive if I ever mentioned this to him, but in that short week before our marriage, he became very predictable. After our first ride on Lampos, he would come to see me every morning, at the same time, with the same chaperone (Deiphobus), and we would go to the same place in Priam's garden to sit and talk. The purpose of these meetings was to know one another better, but at the time I felt like I was cheated out of the knowledge. He seemed to be sincerely interested me. I would answer his questions, not as well as I could have, I'll admit. But when I tried to coax him into speaking about himself, he would easily deflect my questions or give clipped responses. After two days of this, even Deiphobus grew frustrated with our conversations. He would ask seemingly innocent questions about both of us in an attempt to force us to open up to each other. I was good at ignoring him, and unfortunately so was Hector. I couldn't get any information out of him alone. Trying to make him talk about himself was like trying to batter down the Scaean Gate.

Two days before the wedding my frustrations were getting the best of me. The three of us were in Hector's courtyard, as usual, and I still had not succeeded in learning as much as I would have liked about my betrothed. Deiphobus was annoyed at both of us.

"I wish both of you would actually speak to each other," he grumbled. "All you've done is weaseled around conversation all week." I eyed Hector pointedly only to find that he was looking at me the same way. Apparently I had offered less information about myself than he desired.

"All right. Let's try this again," Hector said determinedly, jutting his chin out ever so slightly. "Andromache, tell me about your childhood."

"I grew up with seven brothers and got into no mischief at all," I said sarcastically. "And yours?"

He tapped one foot impatiently on the ground. "That isn't a real answer," he complained. "Tell me something about yourself."

I wasn't about to spill my life story out onto the grass in front of him, so I ignored the question and attacked his motives. "If this is your idea of wooing a maiden, I pity you," I informed him. "First the crazy ride on that beast, and now beating information out of me…"

There was the faintest flush of pink that began to creep up his cheekbones. "I'm not trying to win your affection," he spat defensively, leaning back against one of the lemon trees and crossing his arms. The effect was that of a young boy after being caught doing something wrong, and it was so unlike Hector. In the short time I had known him, all I had seen was a prince, a man aged beyond his years. I guess he had to be. Being the crown prince of Troy was a burden he had carried from a very young age. And seeing him there, looking younger than I imagined he could, was strange to me.

I had little time to dwell on it, though. I saw Deiphobuslook over his shoulder and visibly stiffen. Whipping my head around to look, I saw only Cassandra, hovering timidly by the wall.

"Cassandra!" I exclaimed. "Come, join us."

As soon as the words flew from my lips, Deiphobus wordlessly stood and stalked out of the garden, making a wide circle to avoid his sister. I didn't understand exactly what had happened, only that it was my fault.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly to Hector. "I said something stupid, didn't I?"

Hector shook his head. "It is no fault of yours, Andromache. He hates Cassandra- he is a fool," he said darkly. He had abandoned the posture of a carefree boy and resumed the look of a mature adult. I have to admit that some part of me was sorry to see the boy go. It was a side of Hector I had never seen, and I was intrigued by it. "Please, sister," he continued in a kinder voice. "Come join us."

Cassandra lowered herself slowly onto the grass next to Hector. "I apologize. I didn't know he was with you, or I wouldn't have come."

"No, I'm glad you did," he assured her softly. "Are you well? You look a bit pale."

It was true. It seemed like Cassandra's golden skin had lost some of its luster in only a few days. But she shook her head to rid us of any concerns. "I am eager to return to the temple," she said. "Though I want to be here for the wedding."

There was no mistaking how uncomfortable Hector looked. Cassandra laid a hand on his arm. "I'm not coming to the ceremony, brother. I only meant I wish to be here to share your happiness."

All of a sudden I felt ill. The image came to my mind unbidden of Cassandra, in the isolated quarters she described, catching a few notes of the cheerful wedding hymns.

"Has King Priam forbidden you from attending?" I asked, breaking my silence.

She stared at me in her unsettling way. "He never forbids me, but my siblings are nervous when I come to the feasts."

I met Hector's eyes. I don't want to say I looked at him pleadingly, but I probably did. He rubbed his jaw with one hand. "I think they'll be too drunk to even notice your presence," he said finally. "And as a priestess of Apollo, your job is to offer the marriage cup to us."

"Helenus can do that," she pointed out. "He's a priest."

"I would rather have you do it," I added quietly. "If you would agree to it."

Cassandra did not smile, but her eyes shone and her overall posture simply looked happier. "Thank you for this honor," she stated clearly.

"It is an honor to us," Hector replied graciously. After the proper farewell, Cassandra rose and walked silently out of the courtyard.

This left us with no chaperones. Both of us stood at the same time, and I took the arm he offered. Escorting me back to my chambers was pretty much the only thing he could do while we were alone before we were married. Anything more would be frowned upon, or worse, gossiped about. I was at a loss for any sort of intelligent conversation- I didn't want to ask about Deiphobus' fear of his sister, or say anything too sentimental or too dull. I knew the next time I would see him would be my very last second of freedom, just as I knew Hector would break his pattern of visiting me in the mornings to respect my last day as a maiden.

He did. But at the usual time the next morning, I found I still had a visitor. Aeneas was waiting just outside, leaning against the wall, the very figure of ease, whereas Hector was stiff by comparison. The very sight of him brought a smile to my lips. Of all Hector's family, I felt most at ease with him. "Am I right in guessing Hector told you nothing about himself?" he asked casually, with a careless grin. I found myself thinking that he should be cautious about his smile. It was a strong weapon, capable of winning almost any maiden's heart.

"All I've found out is that he's a soldier, he dotes on Troilius, loves horses, and doesn't wish to marry me," I confessed, and Aeneas raised one eyebrow. "He told me none of this, of course."

"You've got part of it wrong- he wants to marry you," Aeneas corrected. "The rest is true. He also says he hasn't been able to get you to speak of yourself."

He moved to a small bench against the wall and I sat on it with him, leaving space between up. "Are you going to report everything I say to Hector?" I asked suspiciously. For some reason I felt I could trust Aeneas, but he was Hector's best friend, and I couldn't be sure where his loyalties lay.

"No. Cebriones is the one who does that," Aeneas replied. "What else do you want to know about him?"

I couldn't explain it then, but the first thought that came to me was if Hector had ever been in love with anyone. I crushed this thought immediately. _It doesn't matter to me, _I told myself. _He will have mistresses anyway- every husband does. _So I asked instead about how well he fought.

It seems almost ironic now that at one time I didn't know how Hector fought. Back then, it was such a small detail, something I didn't know and only had a vague interest in. I had no idea what was to come: that nervous churning of my stomach as I watched him in battle, trying to keep my hands steady as I bandaged his gaping wounds, the stench of blood both he and I ignored, but neither of us could block out completely.

Aeneas responded that Hector was a prized soldier and would probably be promoted to commander one day. Then he proceeded to tell me about some of their training for war together, and the terrifying instructor they had. While I laughed over the tales, I was becoming more and more worried. Aeneas had kindly tried to tell me of Hector's human qualities and shield me from the other phrases to describe him. "Godlike" and "Menacing" come to mind.

"And if you are concerned over how he will treat you, I think you have nothing to fear," Aeneas assured me. "He…well, he can have a bit of a temper, but it…usually takes a lot to anger him. Paris has it down to an art, but I doubt he will ever be angry at you."

What kind of assurance was that? I knew how strong Hector was, and if I made him mad, he would beat me. It was not a welcome thought.

So although I knew Aeneas meant well, his information provided no comfort to me. By the time he led me back to the women's chambers, telling me the whole way that I would be a beautiful bride and I would have a wonderful life, I was horrified.

Hector was still little more than a stranger to me. I could think of nothing to do on my last day of maidenhood- Troy was a strange city to me, and the idea of wandering through unfamiliar streets didn't appeal to me. Instead, I spent the day praying, to every god I could think of. I prayed for different things- a happy marriage, the chance to go back to Thebe, a painless death, Hector deciding to take another bride just before the wedding.

As the sun set, I realized just how hopeless it was. By the time Phoebus Apollo drove his horses into the west the next day, I would be a slave, locked in tight chains to Troy, and her prince.

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cringe Bad chapter, I know- probably the worst yet, but I promise that the next chapter will be much better, and things can start happening between Hector and Andromache, finally. Thanks to my reviewers who put up with this. 


	11. Ephemeral Eternity

A/N: I have an excuse to why this didn't get updated as fast as I would have liked- I started writing a chapter, got about halfway in, and then had to completely re-write it. Plus there were all the normal distractions- fencing, stupid math homework, and geology presentations. Yuck.

Anyway, here it is- the wedding! It's as historically accurate as I could possibly make it- I did a ton of research and asked some friends- thanks Lariren- Shadow! So here it is- review and tell me what you think.

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Chapter Eleven: Ephemeral Eternity 

The day of the wedding, dawn broke over the shadowed mountains in a smooth array of fuchsia, orange, and pale pink. It was beautiful, but I didn't fully appreciate it. I watched the streaks of light seep through the clouds from my bed. I had been awake for hours. The pre-wedding rituals had taken place the night before. Surrounded by the women of my new family, since I had none of my own in Troy, I made the regular bridal sacrifices. A lock of my hair and a childhood dress at the temple of Artemis. A blue beaded belt I received when I left girlhood at Aphrodite's shrine. The priestess of the Goddess of Love presented me with a long ivy vine she had just cut. It was supposed to be a blessing from the goddess, but to me it weighed as heavily as a curse. I could only murmur a weak thanks as I accepted the green vine, the well-known symbol of everlasting love. I quickly relinquished it to Hecuba when she commented on it, dropping it from my hands as if it burned. That night, as I lay in bed, I found myself wiping my palms on the bedclothes, as if that would rid me of Aphrodite's threat.

Now that dawn had come, I could hide no longer. Slowly, I slid out of bed and planted my feet on the cold stone floor. I paced from the bed to the door a few times before the door flew open. Laodice and Ilione struggled in, supporting an enormous two-handled pot between them. Creusa and Briseisfollowed eagerly, and then came Hecuba, leading Polyxena. Cassandra glided in last, closing the heavy door behind her.

"Water from the Scamander!" Polyxena explained, slipping her small hand out of her mother's grasp. She ducked underneath Ilione's arm to push open the door to the bathhouse. The two maidens dumped the contents of the vase into the small bath.

"From the Scamander? Truly?" I asked, genuinely interested. One of the wedding customs was for the bride to bathe in holy water. I expected water from the small Simois River, and I was excited that I received water from the river I loved already.

Few now live to speak of that mighty river. I wish a bard had survived the fall of Troy; he could put a more poetic feel on the description than I can hope to achieve. The Scamander was a wide, fairly deep river, filled with clean, blue-green water that sang as it rushed past. The water was always warm, even in the winter. I have seen it so hot that steam rose off the surface. I was honored to bathe in water from that blessed river, then. It is tainted for me now. I remember how the riverbanks were used as a cheerful spot to picnic or do laundry. Later the river became so cluttered with mutilated bodies that its crystalline water ran red. And not long after that, I washed the broken body of my son in it. I cannot think of the river the way it used to be- pure, strong, and beautiful. It is too hard to forget what grief it holds.

But at the time, in my sweet ignorance, I loved it. I could hear the voices of the others in the guest chamber as I sat in the bath. There was muted chuckling from the other side of the door. I finished rinsing my hair and submerged myself completely in the shallow water, completing the first ritual of the day: purification.

As I stepped out of the bath, the door opened a crack and Briseis' hand dropped a plain blue robe onto the floor, then disappeared. I had barely finished pulling it on before Ilione shoved the door open again.

"Hurry, Andromache! Come on to the balcony so your hair can dry," she said impatiently, beckoning with both hands. I obediently followed her to the balcony. The wind was blowing. I swear by all the gods on Olympus that the wind in Troy never ceased. It was constant, always dancing through the plains. At first I was easily annoyed by it, but eventually it became comforting to hear it howling around the city. Besides, it blew most illnesses out of Troy- it was a blessing no one could be ungrateful for.

The wind does not blow here in Phthia- did you notice that, friend? Never more than a breeze. If you are used to the laughing of the wind, and it is that which lulls you to sleep, I doubt you rest very well here. Then again, I do not know what it is like at your home. I can only tell you how it was at mine.

Ilione wasn't the only impatient one on my wedding day. Hecuba yanked me back inside before my hair was fully dry. "Go put this on," she ordered, taking a pile of red and gold from Creusa. She steered me toward a screen to change behind.

As much as I disliked the wedding events, I had to admit that the dress was gorgeous. It was a bright, fiery red, with delicate embroidery near the throat. It was loose, comfortable, and very soft. It had been thrust at me with two gold pins to secure it at the shoulders, fashioned into the shape of laurel leaves. I tied a gold beaded belt around my waist and walked out, a bit in awe. In Thebe, we had no craftsmanship as fine as that. The jewelers of Troy were clearly much more skilled than any of ours ever were.

"I didn't know gold could be carved like this!" I exclaimed, fingering the bright clasps.

"You should see some of the things men have brought us from farther east," Creusa told me. "Cups, crowns, armbands- you wouldn't believe how detailed they are!"

"Necklaces and bangles," Polyxena added wistfully, gazing at me admiringly. She hopped up onto the bed, and her feet dangled off the edge, nowhere near the ground.

"Sit here, dear," Hecuba addressed me, gesturing to a high school. I did as I was told. She took a bone comb to my damp hair. I bit my lip as I felt her hands working through it- it wasn't painful, just uncomfortable. I silently counted the time before she would give up on my hidden tangles and hurl the comb at me. For my own mother, it took all of about two minutes before I was the one trying to rake through my dark brown mess. Hecuba surprised me by working at it for less than a minute, then passing the comb on.

"Cassandra, you style her hair. Your fingers are more nimble then mine are."

Indeed, Cassandra was gentler. She worked through my river of tangles in half the time it normally took me. Humming almost inaudibly, she applied perfumed oil to my hair to make it shine, then arranged it into long, tame curls. With pins placed so they were almost invisible, she soon had my hair looking naturally perfect.

"Thank you," I said sincerely when she held up a small looking glass so I could see her creation. Her content eyes reflected in the mirror were reply enough for me. By then I had learned that she didn't smile. Cassandra was blatantly excluded. None of her relatives spoke to her except Hecuba.

Then Ilione carefully applied kohl, shimmering powder, and lip stain to my face. It was difficult for me to sit still. Everyone else was getting ready at the same time I was. In the midst of all the activity, I could feel myself on the verge of drowning in nervousness. It made me feel foolish.

When everyone was ready, quite some time later, Laodice made me turn in a slow circle in front of everyone, as they crooned their approval. I'm sure I blushed as brightly as that morning's dawn as they flung out hundreds of undeserved compliments. Even Polyxena hugged my legs. "You look beautiful," she said through a shy smile.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. Hecuba placed both hands on my shoulders and kissed my cheek.

"May your marriage be blessed," she said, managing to be motherly and queenly at once. I felt so humbled to be wished well by such a powerful woman. I bowed my head as the other voiced gave their blessings. The only voice missing was Cassandra's.

Then there was a horrible banging, muffled, coming from just outside the women's chambers. I froze. Hecuba unfolded a light, thin gold veil and stretched her arms to place it over my head. The corners drifted down, floating on the air. She straightened it deftly, avoiding looking at my eyes.

"Come," she said. They pushed at me from behind and I had to move forward. I stumbled out of the women's quarters, and Hecuba took my hand, leading me like she would lead Polyxena or Troilius. I was only a child, dressed up as a bride, or so I felt.

It was much later than I had guessed; the sun would be setting soon. Briseis, Ilione, Laodice, and Cassandra were already singing wedding hymns, with Polyxena attempting to follow along. We were walking much too fast for my tastes. We rounded a corner to the courtyard near the great hall of Priam's palace. There was already a large crowd gathered there, arranged in a sloppy circle around a brown-streaked altar and a sleek white bull. The sea of people parted to let me through. I walked cautiously to where Hector stood next to the altar, and Cassandra took her place where the priestess should stand.

Hector wore a calf-length chiton of a much deeper red than my gown. The blood-red color complimented his tan skin. In one hand he held a goblet that looked too small for his grip; I looked down and found a goblet had been forced into my hand as well. Through the veil I looked up at his face, studying it carefully in what little time I had. To my dismay, he looked much calmer than I felt- even happy. I think I only saw a flash of nervousness in his eyes because I wanted to.

"For the gods," he stated, tipping his goblet so some of the dark wine spilled onto the ground. I did the same. Cassandra produced a gilded temple knife out of nowhere. She stretched it out to the darkening sky and uttered normal prayers to the gods, adding the request that they bless our marriage. Then she handed the knife to me.

In my mind, I cursed whoever had come up with wedding rituals- they all seemed to revolve around the bride, including the sacrifice. I had seen thousands of sacrifices, of course, and I had little problems with performing one- the bull would feel no pain. But at the wedding I didn't want to have, it was more than I could do alone.

Hector sensed that, somehow, and I was grateful and angry all at the same time. He placed his hand over my pale one, and it was the movement of his hand that slit the bull's throat, not mine. In a way it made me feel better, as if it showed that I was not the one condemning myself to my fate, but he was. It didn't matter to anyone else; to them, it was only a sacrifice.

Two men moved a few huge bowls to the altar, and hurried to catch the blood as it streamed down. With Hecuba as my guide again, we shuffled into the great hall. It was brightly let with many torches. There was a lyre player in the corner, food that smelled wonderful, and serving maidens loaded down with vases of vine. Even I couldn't ignore the festive atmosphere, though I would have loved to. I was ushered to the women's side of the hall- to this day it seems ironic to me that even at the union between a man and woman, both are separate for most of the evening. At the time, I was grateful for the separation, seeing it as my last touch of freedom.

The feast lasted a bit longer than feasts normally would, and I can't say that it bothered me. Maids would come around the room bearing food that would make anyone's mouth water: honey mixed with sesame seeds, cheese, honey cakes stuffed with nuts and raisins, fresh roasted meat, figs, and grapes. Unfortunately, I had little appetite. I managed to choke down a honey cake and gulp some wine, but I think I was still in shock. I had known for months that I would have to marry Hector, but knowing and doing are two different things.

My stomach tied itself into a dozen knots when Priam stood and beckoned to both sides of the room. I did not need to be pushed this time. I didn't want to be a coward. I walked to his and stood still as a statue as Hector joined us. The only part of me that moved was the gauzy veil.

Priam's hand was light on my arm. If I had married in my own city, it would have been my father's hand, but Priam was the obvious substitute. The hall was absolutely silent as the king's voice rang out.

"King Eetion gives this maiden to you, Hector, to be your wife and bear your heirs."

"I accept her," Hector stated, and in that moment I became his wife and his property. Strangely, I didn't know what to feel. I watched dumbly as Aeneas came up to us, walking slowly, nearly doubled over to hold Troilius' hand. The baby was holding a loaf of bread, supported by Aeneas. He held it out in front of himself, and Hector crouched to gently take it from him.

"I fled worse and found better," Aeneas muttered. Troilius tried to repeat the vow.

"Afawwter," he said solemnly. Hector and I repeated it in unison, breaking off hunks of the loaf as we did. I swallowed the dry bread, wishing for something to wash it down with.

Hector took my hand and led me outside. All eyes latched on to us as he helped me into the chariot, then snapped the reins so the horses started to move. One of the horses pulling us was Lampos, which made me feel better.

Hector kept his ceremonial attitude until we had left the Scaean Gate and were completely alone, except for the entire population of the city, standing on the walls and throwing petals. "This is one of the first times I've let Lampos pull the chariot," he admitted. I smiled at his bizarre comment. Of all the things to say at a wedding, he had chosen a good statement.

"He seems to enjoy it," I said. Hector was a skilled charioteer; the ride was fairly smooth, but still I clung cautiously to the front of the chariot. A cloth had been draped over it. I would have recognized it anywhere. It was vibrant green, dyed with a root mixture native to Thebe. I contemplated this as we reentered the city. When we stopped at Hector's palace and saw Priam holding a torch, I felt like I was going to cry.

Someone loosed the horses from the chariot and led them back to the stables. Hector handed me the torch, and I accepted it haltingly. I had forgotten this ritual. The bride was expected to burn a chariot to symbolize that she was leaving her old life forever- that she could never return home.

The Theban cloth waved in the wind. Holding my breath, I set the firebrand on the floor of the chariot, and watched as the flames consumed it. Hector lifted the veil from my hair. The young men and women started dancing to celebrate. The maidens spun in a trance-inducing dance, and the men stomped out the dance of five steps. Hector went to join them, but I found myself surrounded by the same female relatives I had been visited by that morning. Hecuba held a torch. She led our procession into Hector's palace. Cassandra led the others in the wedding songs, and her haunted voice sounded better than any lyre.

"Here," Hecuba said quietly, pressing against a large door. It opened easily, and we walked inside. Hector's bedchamber was much larger than the guestroom I had been staying in. I removed the gold jewelry and the fiery gown, changing into a simple linen nightdress. Ilione cleaned off the cosmetics she had so carefully applied earlier, and Cassandra took the pins out of my hair, leaving it to fall to its normal tangles. I felt defenseless, without the veil and the cosmetics. I didn't want to be seen like that.

There was laughter, growing louder outside, and Hector entered the room in a cloud of smiling friends and brothers. Aeneas shoved him playfully so he stood in front of me. Cassandra, serene by contrast, offered the marriage cup to us. Hector drank from the gold goblet first, then I, shuddering as the bitter liquid flew over my tongue.

Everyone started to clear the room. I turned frantically to catch Cassandra. "Please, sister, give me your blessing," I stuttered, for lack of anything else to say. I couldn't ask her to rescue me.

For the first time since I had known her, Cassandra smiled. It was not only happiness in her sweet face- I cannot explain it. It was as if that beautiful smile barely masked the greatest grief for me.

"May you enjoy your ephemeral eternity together," she said softly, and she left, closing the door. The last of the wedding hymns faded, trapping me in my new life.

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Whew, that took forever to type- let me know what you thought! 


	12. No Escaping the Ivy Vine

A/N: I promise that someday, I'll actually update when I mean to. Until then, thanks for putting up with me not updating for awhile.

And for those of you who were looking forward to a wedding night chapter, sorry, but that rating on the story isn't going to go above PG 13, and if it ever does, it'll be for violence. Besides, I'm sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

Also, I know sometimes in ancient Greece husbands and wives slept in separate beds and rooms, but (I think it was in the Iliad…not sure though) it talks about Hector and Andromache's marriage bed, so I'll stick with that. That's about all…enjoy!

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Chapter Twelve: No Escaping the Ivy Vine 

I would love to say that both Hector and I accepted our new roles as husband and wife with dignity and grace, but nothing could be farther from the truth. We both acted immaturely from the start. On our first full day of marriage, I woke up to find that we were on opposite sides of our marriage bed, as far apart as possible. I leapt up at once, pulling on a robe and sprinting to the wardrobe, hoping Hector wouldn't wake to the slap of my bare feet on the stone floor. I hastily shed my robe and flung on a simple dress, praying he wouldn't open his eyes to catch me when I wasn't properly covered. I finished dressing and tied my hair into a loose bun, and still he didn't wake. It was wonder he hadn't fallen off the bed in his attempts to maintain the distance between us. He lay on his back, with one ram curled protectively into his side, and the other dangling off the edge of the bed, with his fingers brushing the floor. It couldn't have been a relaxing position.

I was too uncomfortable to worry about my new husband's comfort. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, as a wife. I didn't know Troy well enough to go to the marketplace, and besides, noble women sent slaves to do that. There was no one to visit in the women's quarters of Priam's palace, and Cassandra had probably already returned to the temple of Apollo. The morning meal? A servant would bring it. I had to stay in the rooms.

But if I did stay, what would happen when Hector woke? Would he assign me to wifely duties? And what would they be? I had to appear busy.

I strode to the loom that had been assembled in one quiet corner of the sitting room that was connected to the bedchamber by a wide doorway. A thoughtful servant had left a few skeins of wool thread in a basket. I selected a light blue color, and began weaving. I always disliked the task, but on that morning, I was thankful to Athena for teaching the skill to women.

I had little progress to speak of when Hector rolled over and shook the dangling arm irritably. I watched nervously as he stretched the offending arm across the bed. He snapped it back and his eyes flew open. Seeing that I wasn't in the bed, he seemed to calm down,

"Andromache?" he called, a note of cautiousness ringing in his voice.

"Yes?" I replied, mechanically continuing my weaving. Already one small section had tangled itself. I stopped my work and focused instead on smoothing out the flaw.

"Good morning," he said. I mumbled a greeting of my own and plastered my eyes to my weaving as Hector pushed back the bedclothes and walked to the wardrobe, as I had done. I relied desperately on my hearing to let me know when I could safely look at him. I waited for a few seconds even after I heard the soft swish of his skirt being tied. When I was confident that I wouldn't see anything that would make me blush, I turned to face him.

"Has Cassandra returned to the temple?" I asked, more to simply say something than receive an answer. Hector reached for a pair of brown sandals as he responded.

"Her plan was to leave at first light," he told me. "Maybe you would like to visit my mother? Father is holding a meeting that I must attend."

"I would like to see her," I assured him. As his eyes scanned the room, he spotted a large wooden box and shook his head.

"I nearly forgot- wedding gifts to you from my family," he explained, scooping up the box and handing it to me. It was heavier than I expected. I set it on the bed and steadied it with one hand.

"I have a gift for you," I informed him. Two of my trunks had been set along one of the little-used walls. Luckily, the bundle of gifts for Hector was in the first trunk I opened. I drew it out and turned to present it to Hector, only to find that he held a package of his own. He smiled slightly as we traded.

I watched his face carefully as he unfolded the first part of his gift. He looked genuinely happy as he held up the cloak. Before he had arrived in Thebe, my mother had suggested making a cloak as a wedding gift, saying it was traditional. Much as I despised the task, I complied, and the cloak had turned out nicely. It was dyed the enchanting green native to Thebe, and I had embroidered the edges with a bold, triangular design.

"It's beautiful," Hector admired. After draping it carefully in the wardrobe, he picked up the rest of his gift. It was a long knife I had coveted since I first saw it. Its bronze blade had been polished until it gleamed threateningly, as if it longed to bite into enemy flesh. My brother Dagamede had carved the handle himself. It bore a detailed design of Ares, a spear in his fist, his plumed helm splitting his menacing face.

Hector ran his fingers along the flat side of the blade and over the wooden handle. "I doubt I'll ever be worthy of wielding this," he confessed with a smile, and I laughed.

"I think your family would disagree strongly," I corrected him. He tore his gaze from the knife to eye the package in my arms pointedly. I sat on one of the many cushioned stools and peeled back the wrapping cloth.

Inside was a small, elegantly painted pot. I opened the tightly fitting lid and lifted it to my nose. The perfume inside was like a breeze of intoxicating spices, with a hint of flowers, and elements of the fresh ocean. I re-sealed the pot wonderingly. I had never smelled and fragrance like it.

"Perfume from Egypt," he stated, and again I was struck by Troy's immense power. Egypt was little more than a legend in Thebe, yet Troy traded with the majestic country.

One last gift lay in the cloth, partially covered by the folds. I fished out the beautiful necklace. It was as wide as three of my fingers, made of a bright, beaten gold. It curved gracefully to fit my neck. The weight of it on my collarbone felt strange. I thanked Hector politely. I loved the gift, but I felt like he had given me too much.

I hadn't even imagined what could be in the box from his family. As soon as Hector left for the meeting, I slipped the lid off and gasped in surprise. On top was an ivy vine, probably the same one I had begged Hecuba to take. I plucked it out and lay it near the loom, far from me. I was still stubborn enough to believe I could escape the symbol of true love. I knew nothing of the ivy vines that covered one whole wall of Hector's palace.

I felt like an undeserving wretch as I unloaded all the gifts I had received. There was a crown of gold laurel leaves, to show my new status as a Trojan princess. I pulled out the other objects in awe: bangles, beaded necklaces, dangling earrings, elaborately embroidered gowns, a veil to wear in the sun, an armband that looked that a golden snake, beaded belts, and ornate hair jewelry. For a moment I sat there dumbly, trying to take it all in. Surely they did not mean to give me all this? Such extravagant gifts for a new bride? I felt guilty yet overwhelmingly grateful. As I gently set the gifts back in their container for safekeeping, I decided I had to go thank Hecuba.

Her chamber turned out to be rather hard to find, of course. Finding my way through the maze of Hector's house was difficult enough, and I wandered the halls of Priam's citadel for a quarter of an hour before stumbling on the Queen's chambers.

Hecuba's door was open, and she gestured me in at once. Two maidservants were spinning fleece, and a nurse had Troilius balanced on her lap. Seeing me, he promptly dropped the toy soldier he was holding and reached for it with a sigh. I bent to pick it up, and lay it in his tiny hands with a smile.

"I came to thank you for all the wedding gifts," I told Hecuba, sitting on the stool she produced for me. "You've done too much for me already!"

"Nonsense," she said in her noble way. "It is no more than I received when I married Priam."

_But you deserved it. You loved him, _I wanted to say. Instead I politely expressed my thanks again. "Still, it was more than I could have ever wished for."

"A fitting gift for a princess of Troy," Hecuba said with an air of satisfaction. I smiled in response. I had done nothing to deserve the gift, but I could see that trying to convince her of that was useless.

Troilius slid off his nurse's lap and slowly toddled toward me, his arms outstretched. I hesitated. I knew what he wanted, but I was afraid to do it- I had no experience with children. But he persistently held out his arms to me, so I lifted him onto my lap. He babbled solemnly to his mother, curling and uncurling his hand as it grasped my sleeve.

"He's decided he likes you," Hecuba informed me casually, as if it were of no importance. But to me, it was the best gift I had received.

That night I learned that I had received one unnoticed gift, and it changed my life.

After awkwardly getting into bed and arranging myself as far away from Hector as I could, I fell into a peaceful sleep. The dream I had was so vivid that I remember every detail to this day. It was no mere dream. Will you think me mad if I tell you this, friend? I hope you will believe me.

Quite suddenly, I was pulled out of my warm, dark sleep. My first thought was that I had awoken. I hurried to make sure I hadn't somehow crept to Hector's side as I slept, but he wasn't there. Maybe I had woken up, but I was not in a place I had ever seen before. I was in a garden, of sorts, but oh, what a garden. The sunlight streamed uninterrupted onto delicate wildflowers, and the air sparkled and shimmered as it caught the light. The did not notice the clean white benches until I heard the command.

"Sit."

The voice danced with laughter, joy, and confidence all at once. I obeyed. Looking to where the voice has drifted from, I was awestruck by what I saw.

There was a woman reclining on a curved bench; she was so beautiful that I knew at once she had to be one of the immortal goddesses. Her skin was a creamy ivory color, and her eyes were the liquid blue sky, shining out from her perfect face. She wore a gown that not even the best weaver could have made; it must have been composed of a cloud at dawn. It was a light, breathtaking pink, that draped itself smoothly from her white shoulders. Her hair was a thousand times brighter than the necklace Hector had given me. The fiery gold was wound into curls that tumbled down her back. But the most stunning feature of all was her smile. Her joy was unrestrained, and I quivered to be in range of her grin.

"You know who I am, do you not, Andromache?" she asked, in that shock inducing voice. I nodded. She was Aphrodite, Goddess of Love- there was never any doubt in my mind.

"Then you know why I've called you here," she said confidently.

"No, my lady," I whispered. My mind raced through the possibilities. _She wants to inquire after her son, Aeneas. She wants me to look after him. She wants Hector to send me back to Thebe._

The goddess' smile only grew. "It was I who gave you the golden veil for your wedding," she explained.

"I thank you for it," I replied, thoroughly confused. What had I done to deserve a gift from the Goddess of Love?

It was as if I had spoken aloud. "I've blessed the love between you and Hector," she clarified.

"My lady, there is no love between us," I felt compelled to admit. She had blessed the wrong couple.

Aphrodite sat up straighter, fixing me in her gaze. I had never been in so much danger, I was sure. "There will be," she vowed. "Andromache. Promise me you will not fight it."

I did not want to promise anything. I absolutely was _not _going to love Hector. She could take her blessings to some other couple.

"You will not even need my help, really. But certain…circumstances have moved events that were going to happen later. Something huge will occur sooner than it was supposed to, and I need you and Hector to be comfortable each other by then," she stated. I barely thought of how absurd she sounded. She expected us to become comfortable with each other, as if something else depended on it. It was a command from a goddess. I did not dare refuse.

"I promise," I heard myself say. With one final smile, Aphrodite was gone; or rather, I was. She had lain me back in my warm sleep, just as easily as she had taken me out of it for a chat.

Her message was still a mystery to me. I didn't fully understand what I had vowed to do, or why. But in the morning, when I found myself closer to Hector than I was comfortable with, I did not move. Instead, I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and hoped that friendship would be enough to satisfy the goddess. Behind her glorious smile was danger.

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I hope all that was semi-clear…I've been writing all day. Please leave me a review! 


	13. Portrait of Home

A/N: Another chapter that took forever to post. This one's pretty long, though, and there's some good H/A interaction here, so I hope you'll forgive me!

Dedicated to **Lariren-Shadow **and **Lady Hades**. Huge, gigantic, enormous thanks to them for the suggestions and chats about my writing. I couldn't get my ideas focused for this chapter, and without their help, it probably wouldn't be up anytime soon. Thanks so much!

To re-cap: Aphrodite pulled Andromache out of her sleep to have a little chat about her relationship with Hector, and Andromache just woke up.

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Chapter Thirteen: Portrait of Home 

I snapped to awareness with Aphrodite's message still so fresh in my mind that my heart raced painfully from her words. I had somehow rolled closer to Hector while I slept, and while every sense was screaming at me to move away, I stayed exactly where I was. One of my hands had placed itself dangerously close to Hector's bare shoulder, and my foot was resting on the soft cloth of the skirt that covered his knee. I would have given anything to move, across the world, across the city, even across the bed. But I had been commanded by a goddess not to fight my love for Hector, so I closed my eyes instead.

_Friendship,_ I reminded myself weakly. Shouldn't a strong friendship satisfy Aphrodite? What exactly was the huge event I had to love Hector for? I couldn't fathom what the goddess spoke of. Even if someone had told me what was to come, I wouldn't have believed it. Hector was still alive and strong, and the walls of Troy were too high. There was no thought of shadow in the mind of the Trojans, for any hint of darkness was banished with ease by their military prowess and shielding gate.

As I lay there, unable to relax, I continued to ponder the goddess' words. _She said our love would need no help, _I recalled with a sickening jump of my stomach. Had she summoned me by accident? I could feel hope rising steadily in my chest, but it was crushed as quickly as it had bloomed. The immortal ones of Olympus didn't make petty mistakes. If Aphrodite had called me out of my sleep, it was me she meant to speak to, not some other bride.

That left me with only her casual prophecy. "I've blessed the love between you and Hector," I remembered her saying in that intoxicating voice, and then later, "You will not even need my help, really."

My mind did what it was accustomed to doing, at first: fought it. I most certainly would _not _love Hector, and the Goddess of Love couldn't make me! _But she said we won't need her help,_ I reminded myself. Without fully realizing what I was doing, I allowed myself to be submerged in the possibility. A huge part of me was still in complete denial that I could be that comfortable with my husband. I opened my eyes and let my gaze drift to Hector's sleeping form, my mind toying with the ideas Aphrodite had presented.

As I took in his tan skin, interrupted by purplish, pink, or white scars, I thought of nothing. My mind was still curiously blank as I looked at his face. His hair was wild, with some curls lying lightly on his brow, and some tossed back against the pillow. His jaw was slightly crooked, and his lips were dry. His mouth was barely open, and his slow intake of breath was audible. With his eyes closed, he looked surprisingly peaceful. Not vulnerable, exactly, but not as strong as he usually was, and trusting.

And I realized I could love him.

That was a more frightening thought than I expected. I shifted my head so I could stare up at the ceiling and not at the man next to me. _I don't want to love him!_ But I couldn't see any other way around Aphrodite's wrath.

_Friendship!_ I told myself, more determined than ever. I was deprived of any more time to consider the situation, because at that moment, Hector stirred. I glanced back at his face. His mouth was open in a wide yawn. He pushed the hair off his face with one hand, and stretched his other arm above his head, curling his hand into a tight fist. When his tired eyes finally opened, I was the first thing he saw.

His entire body gave a startled lurch, and I would have laughed if my head weren't still reeling from my realization and Aphrodite's command. Clearly my new husband had forgotten that I now shared his bed. "You scared me," he accused sleepily.

I shrugged against the bed sheets. "You're easily scared," I countered, still shaken. He acknowledged the remark with a smile before he rose to a sitting position. He planted his feet on the ground and left only a warm space where his body had been. I sat up too, drawing my knees up to my chest.

"What are your plans today?" I asked. He lazily lowered his cupped hands into a basin of water that some servant had left on a table. After splashing some water onto his face and groping around for a cloth to dry it off with, he responded.

"I don't have any plans, unless something happens and I have to accompany my father and the army to fix the problem," he informed me. "Is there anything you want to do? I know you haven't seen much of the city so far."

The idea appealed to me. I was desperate to see more of the city than was visible from Hector's palace. "I'd love to see more of Troy," I accepted his invitation.

"All right. Give me a few minutes- I must tell Father I'll be out, in case he needs me," he said, fishing a neatly folded pile of clothes out of the wardrobe. He hid behind a screen to change, and with a nod, he left to find Priam.

I slid out of bed and made my way to the wardrobe, wondering what would be best to wear out in the city. I knew all eyes would be watching me, because I was Hector's bride. I didn't want to make the mistake of wearing something inappropriate. I had to make a good impression.

Seeing no other option, I sighed and abandoned the gaping wardrobe, sticking my head out of the door to the chambers. I was in luck. A young maidservant was wandering through the hall.

"Wait!" I called, and she turned around, fear written over her delicate features. "I need your help."

Bowing her head respectfully, she hurried toward me, and I opened the door to let her in. "What's your name?" I asked first.

"Cleita," she answered, her voice thin.

"And are you Trojan, Cleita?"

She nodded, and I let out a breath of relief.

"Good. Can you tell me what I should wear out into the city?" I asked.

"Of course, my lady!" she agreed. The poor girl had probably expected to be reprimanded for wandering the halls without work to do. After looking to me for permission, she rifled through the shelves of the wardrobe, still managing to keep all the clothes in tidy piles.

"I think you should wear this, my lady," she advised, pulling out a deep blue gown. It was nothing outrageously extravagant, but it also wasn't plain. I had already discovered that that particular shade of blue was made of a popular dye native to Troy. Hecuba had embroidered a leafy design around the low neckline. I carried the dress on my arm and dug around the box of treasures I had received from my new family until I found two ornately carved dress pins. I dashed behind the screen to change out of my night shift and into a new gown, keeping an eye on the door. I wanted to be ready before Hector returned.

"It feels strange to have the cloth following behind me," I admitted to Cleita. It was custom for the wealthy women of Troy to wear gowns with long trains. It showed how rich the city was: the dragging cloth wore out quickly and needed to be replaced.

"Aren't you going to wear any jewels, my lady?" Cleita asked. I pulled out a few items from the box of jewelry and lay them on the bed for the maiden to see.

"Your crown, and the snake armband, and of course earrings" she suggested, selecting small gold earrings and placing them in my palm. "Perhaps the necklace with the blue stone, my lady?"

"Yes—no, the plain gold one," I said, and she handed me the necklace that was a gift from Hector. I hastily fastened the earrings and reached for the crown and a white veil to block the sun. "Please tell me you know how to arrange my hair," I begged.

She did. In a matter of minutes, her nimble fingers had arranged my hair so it was pulled back off my face and trailed down my back. Before she pinned the veil on and set the laurel crown on top, I lined my eyes with kohl. Hector entered just as Cleita finished her work.

"I see you've found a handmaiden," he commented. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I replied, pulling on my sandals. I thanked Cleita for her help and followed Hector out, excited about seeing more of the glorious city.

"Where do you want to go?" Hector asked, taking the hall opposite to the one I had taken the day before to visit Hecuba.

"You know your city better than I- show me whatever you want," I replied. Hector pushed open a thick wooden door, and I was surprised to see the golden sunlight streaming in. If only I had known about this simpler exit the day before, I wouldn't have spent half an hour roaming the halls!

Outside the door, I found myself in an area of Hector's property I hadn't seen before. I saw no familiar landmarks to show me which side of the palace we were on. While we walked down the narrow steps from the side door to the ground, we rounded a corner, and I gasped in surprise. One of the pristine white walls was covered in green ivy vines. Looking at the balcony they had carefully concealed themselves under, and the courtyard they led to, I realized it was worse than I had thought. Aphrodite's symbol of eternal love covered the outside walls of the chambers Hector and I shared. I could think of no worse omen, and the worries about my dream returned to me at once.

Hector reached the end of the descending stairway before I did, and he was oblivious to my distress. He paused so I could catch up before he started speaking. "We can visit the temples, or see the heart of the city today. I think we would be too exhausted to see both in one day," he told me, gesturing with one hand to the high hilltops where the temples were. "You choose what appeals to you most."

"The inner city," I answered hastily. I couldn't risk a visit to Aphrodite's temple. I strongly suspected some sort of foul play on her part- a temple servant offering a love potion, or performing some sort of spell. I realized I would have to avoid Aeneas for a while just to be safe; the goddess could make her son complete the task of forcing me to love Hector. Seeing the more common places of the city would be safer than staying where Aphrodite's servants could find me.

Hector nodded and took my hand. He maintained what I hoped was an amiable silence as we made our way down to the lower parts of Troy. Briefly I wondered if he thought me irreverent for not choosing to see the temples, but he didn't do anything that could be taken as a sign of anger.

"A shipment of goods from Mycenae just came in, so the marketplace may be crowded," he said as we walked. The wind I was unaccustomed to blew lazily around my legs, as if it lacked the strength to reach the screaming point I knew it was capable of. "But would you like to go there anyway?"

I decided I was willing to brace a curious crowd. Briseis had gushed over the wide variety of things that could be found at the Trojan market. I was sure that with new merchandise, it would be very impressive.

I was right. Many stalls of were crammed on to one long, wide street, leaving just enough room for people to squeeze into the tiny stalls. Women chatted happily amongst themselves, and a few unlucky husbands stood awkwardly off to the side. Merchants called out in booming voices, advertising their products and competing with the other vendors.

"The finest pearls the Aegean can offer!"

"Beautiful, soft cloth, dyed in the brightest colors!"

"Fresh figs!"

I admit, I would have been a bit overwhelmed without Hector there to guide me through it. As we walked through the sea of people, many turned from whatever they were examining to bow their heads. Hector would nod back or wave, and I smiled shyly, aware that they were forming their opinions on me already.

"I don't really know where to find everything here," Hector admitted to me. "Briseis and Ilione come here more often than I do. But they tell me that sometimes they have wonderful perfume and beads."

It seemed that all the merchants had something for us, but I shook my head politely when offered pots from Mycenae, papyrus from Egypt, and headdresses from Sparta. But when one elderly merchant waved at me with the promise, "Treasures from Thebe!" it was almost impossible to say no.

Hector noticed the man, and my reaction. He gently nudged me toward the man's stall. "Good morning, Eloneus," he greeted the man.

"Greetings to you as well, Prince Hector," the old man said, in a voice that was slightly raspy. "Is this your new bride? The Theban princess?"

"Your memory never fails you," Hector complimented him. "This is Andromache. Andromache, this is Eloneus, an old friend of my father's."

Eloneus lifted my hand to his withered lips in greeting. "You're in luck, my lady. My son just returned from Thebe with a load of fine merchandise," he said, extending an arm toward the objects the crowded his messy stall. He looked back to my face expectantly, hoping for some kind of reaction.

I think he got the reaction he wanted. I looked around the dark space and saw things I recognized. Everything was so familiar. I hadn't understood how much I missed my home until then. Of course I had brought some things with me from Thebe, but it wasn't much. Already Troy had affected me. I was dressed in Trojan clothes, adorned with Trojan jewels, hanging onto the arm of a Trojan prince. The only thing Theban was me; and now all these things from my homeland reminded me of that.

There were no great treasures; nothing that would stand out in the marketplace full of rare items. Everything was fairly simple, even by the standards in Thebe. There were a few lengths of cloth dyed the native green, and carved wooden dishes. There were many dolls for children, and beaded belts, and a few plain knives. There was also a large array of clay pots and goblets. Some of the pots were plain, but a few were painted with designs, and one caught my eye.

"Could I see-" I started, but Eloneus was as perceptive as most merchants were, and he was already reaching for the large vase. He held it out carefully, turning it slowly in his bony hands as he told us about it.

"This was made by a skilled potter, and painted as well. The design goes around the entire pot," he said, but I hardly paid attention. The pot was simple enough; it was the art that enchanted me. Eight figures encircled it. Seven were male, and they decreased in size. The art showed little detail, and every figure looked almost the same. All the men wore a crown of laurel leaves, and the biggest ones had beards. Three held swords, and all wore a look of mischief on their face, except for the smallest man. His expression was ornery yet dark. And next to the smallest man, there was one more figure: a girl, with long curls. Nothing else was different about her, but I knew who had made the pot and who the people were.

One of the palace servants in Thebe was very old, and couldn't move well, but she could shape pots better than anyone else in the citadel could. I can't remember ever seeing her without dried clay on her hands. And a few months before I left for Troy, she had been working on a pot that size. When the younger servants had wanted to take it to the market to sell, she had refused, saying she still had painting to do.

She had painted my brothers and I on the vase. Once she had painted simple figures that represented my mother and father, and she had often painted her daughters. Even with all that in mind, I couldn't believe she had captured my brothers on a pot, plain as it was.

"We'll take the vase," I heard Hector say, just behind my shoulder. Eloneus took the coins from Hector's hand and placed the pot carefully in his arms.

"You're a lucky one, my lord," I heard him call as my husband gently steered me away.

"I know I am," Hector replied, taking care not to jostle himself against the crowd and drop the pot.

"Thank you so much," I said gratefully, unable to take my eyes off the vase. I was a bit shocked at Hector's words. I had given him no reason to fell lucky. In the time I had known him, I had gotten in an argument with him, treated him horribly, and yet he bought me a vase simply because I admired it.

"Let me get someone to take this back to the palace, and then I want to take you somewhere else," Hector said, waving over a manservant he recognized and instructing him to take the pot. As the man strode off in the direction of the citadel, Hector took me in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to take you to one of my favorite places in the city," he told me. I cringed. I felt so undeserving. He had been so kind to me, and I had been scared off because of a few ivy vines. I didn't deserve to see a place that was so important to him. He shouldn't allow me to see his private side.

But I don't think my thoughts ever occurred to him, and soon we were near the Scaean Gate. He returned the salutations of the guards, but didn't go much closer. We passed by the gate, and then I saw where we were headed.

I think one of the most impressive buildings in Troy was the Tower of Ilium. It was brighter than any other structure in the city, and taller as well. It shone out like a reminder of how powerful Troy was; a monument to the gods and kings who had made it so, and a challenge to any who dared threaten it. Hector looked upon it with respect, and I was awestruck.

"Promise me you won't look down until we get to the top," he said excitedly.

"I promise," I agreed, and I followed him up the winding stairs. It was easy not to look down. I concentrated on following him, and being sure of my footing, and we had reached the top in no time.

"Now you can look," he told me. I stepped carefully to the waist-high wall that surrounded it and gazed down.

My heart leaped nervously. We were so high above the city! I could see everything! There was the marketplace, with its covered stalls and people in bright clothing. I could see the citadel, and the unreachable temples seemed closer. I moved around the tower, looking down at the city from all angles, and Hector followed behind, pointing out what I had missed.

"There are the stables," he said into my ear. "And down there is where most of the festivals are held. And there's the plain where our battles are fought when raiders come." I looked out from the city to the vast ocean. The greenish blue waves met the pale sky under the light of the sun, and the effect was beautiful. I turned to Hector with a smile. I had to thank him for bringing me up there.

The look on his face made my heart react the same way as when I looked down from the tower. His face expressed pure joy. He loved the city, and everything about it, and I had never seen such powerful love on his face. The fact that he had shared it with me, though I didn't deserve it, made me want to burst into laughter.

"And there," he said, unaware of my thoughts. He pointed to the south. "There is where Thebe lies, though you can't see it from here."

That put me over the edge. I wanted to embrace him, and on my impulse, I did. I simply flung myself into his arms and held him, and the feeling of his arms around me was the best gift I had received all day.

"Thank you for taking me here," I said into his tunic. He rocked me side to side.

There, high above the windy plains of Troy and all its people, was where the first stage of Aphrodite's plan took place, and yet we needed no help from her.

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One last reminder- **The Tragic Bliss Awards** for H/A fanfiction are almost over, so get your nominations in NOW! If you want more information, go to the site in my profile or request the info in a review. Thanks so much! 


	14. Hands

A/N: I think we've already established that I'm the worst updater in the world, and I'm sorry. My math grade caught up with me. But it's summer now, and I'll try my hardest to get one new chapter or oneshot up at least once a week. A trip to Vegas and a country concert won't interfere…much.

Thanks so much to **LarirenShadow **for helping me with the idea for this chapter, or Chapter Fourteen wouldn't exist for a long time. And thanks to **Gaslight** for beta-ing and catching all my stupid mistakes.

And to re-cap: Hector bought Andromache a vase, took her to the Tower of Ilium, and she hugged him. Here we go again!

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Chapter Fourteen: Hands 

The Theban vase Hector had bought for me was not the only reminder of my old home. The absence of my parents and brothers shadowed me like an unwelcome guest. I strove to keep myself busy during the day. My fingers were constantly entwined in vibrant thread as I wove, my eyes always sharp as I oversaw servants. Yet sometimes, even when I kept my body occupied, my mind was free to wander. And wander it did, straight past the dazzling sea and back to the less sophisticated paths of Thebe.

Contrary to the stubborn resolutions I had made before leaving home of not becoming attached to Hector, I found that I enjoyed his company. As the crown prince of Troy, he was always working. It seemed like every day his presence was required at a council, and because Priam was not physically stable, he looked after the city's military as well. Unlike my father had done in Thebe, Hector did not order others to train new soldiers and take no part in it himself. He played a huge role in the teaching. For infantrymen, he left some of the training to Aeneas or his generals, and he only checked in with the archery recruits a few times. But the horsemen were a different matter. Hector himself selected a promising few out of all the trainees, and he educated them himself on fighting on horse and driving chariots. It was no wonder that the Trojan soldiers, especially the cavalrymen, were unshakably loyal to him.

Because of his call of duty, I rarely saw my husband except for early in the morning, and then not again until late in the afternoon. After only a few weeks of marriage, I admitted to myself that those were my favorite parts of the day. I made it a point to be finished with whatever tasks I was doing or supervising by the time Hector came home. I was always the only one in our chambers when he strode inside. Sometimes he would flop down on the bed, hot and exhausted, and mumble his greeting. More often he would sit a few feet away from me and smile, asking how my day had been as if he were truly interested. We talked about anything and everything that came to mind until it was time for the evening meal.

Our conversations never touched on deep or uncomfortable topics, but they were still valuable to me. I grew to be much more relaxed around him, and felt free to be myself. Even though he smiled easily, I enjoyed making him smile and laugh at my stories of Thebe, and he told me legends of Troy as well as stories of his own childhood. We settled into an easy friendship, not bound by oath or love, but friends all the same.

Unfortunately, Hector had little time to spare for friendship. While I could forget my feelings of homesickness when I was with him, he wasn't available often enough to cure me. I was lucky to have other friends in Troy to take my mind off Thebe.

One of these friends was Aeneas. He stopped by at least once a day to check up on me, I suspect because he knew I was lonely. He never stayed more than a few minutes, but his visits were always cheerful. In spite of his longtime friendship with Hector, he loved to tell stories that his cousin might find embarrassing.

We were sitting in the entry hall one afternoon while Aeneas told me of one such instance. Apparently Hector had gotten drunk at a festival and tried to woo a dancing girl, only to havesomeone elsewin her over instead.

"You should have seen him, Andromache," Aeneas said with a chuckle. "Hector was so drunk he could barely comprehend the situation!"

"I can't imagine it," I replied, and indeed I could not. I knew Hector mostly as the responsible Prince, with only fleeting glimpses of his boyish side. It was hard to imagine him having flaws, even being drunk.

"He had so much trouble walking home! Nearly fainted halfway to the-"

At that moment, a guard pushed open the front doors from the outside, and the sunlit opening darkened with Hector's form. From the way he stumbled, it was apparent that it would be one of those days where he flung himself onto our bed and rested until supper. He headed toward the corridor that led to our chambers, stopping when he saw Aeneas and I.

"Welcome back, cousin," Aeneas greeted him happily. "I was just telling your lovely bride about the time you got drunk and wooed that maiden at the festival."

"Ah," Hector croaked, distractedly wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. "I'm sure she found it amusing."

"Of course she did," Aeneas answered for me, springing up from his chair. "I'll leave you to rest."

"Do not forget-" Hector started.

"That we're working with the new spearmen tomorrow, Hector, I know," Aeneas finished, with a wink at me as he left the palace.

"Did you enjoy his visit?" Hector asked tiredly as I rose from my chair.

"I always do," I replied, completely unaware of how my response would later feed Hector's suspicions.

I did not think Aeneas' visit that day was particularly important. If anything, the visit he made a few days later stands out in my mind more.

Hector had a few hours free that morning, so he took Lampos out for a ride in the hills. He had invited me to come, but I politely declined. Though I knew Lampos was well trained, I still feared the huge beast. I was resting in my room when a maid informed me that Aeneas had come to visit. I met him in the entryway.

He was a wreck. Every mark of his dignified presence had deserted him for a day. His proud shoulders slumped and his lithe body sagged. His smooth brow was pinched with distress, and his blue eyes were dark with sorrow. "I need to speak with you," he said wildly as I approached.

Everything about him was so different that I wondered if something tragic had happened. "Is something wrong? Did something happen to Hector? Cassandra?"

"No," he cut me off. "Everyone is in good health. I just…I need your advice."

"Oh." I was relieved. I took a step toward the chairs we usually sat in, but Aeneas thrust out a hand to stop me.

"Please, anywhere but here. I do not wish to be overheard," he implored quietly, desperation clear in his voice. I was truly curious now. What could bring such a man to despair?

"Follow me," I said. "We can talk in the garden."

I loved the garden. It was private, with high white walls and a single entrance from the palace. There were fig and lemon trees, as well as vines and pale green ferns. An impressive fountain with a statue rising out of its water stood in the center, flanked by two stone benches. The statue in the fountain was an intricately carved man in armor. Hector had already explained that this figure was Tros, the man who founded Troy. The balcony of the chambers Hector and I shared overlooked the garden. No servants were permitted to enter the garden save for the groundskeepers, and it was deserted that day.

Aeneas lowered himself onto one of the benches, leaving enough room for me to sit beside him. The serenity of the garden seemed to calm him down a bit. The only sound was that of footsteps, drifting from my rooms to our ears. I dismissed the sound as a servant, and Aeneas did as well. He stared at his footprints in the soft dirt for a few seconds before speaking what was on his mind.

"I'm in love," he stated, not meeting my eyes. "And Hector is going to hate me for it."

I didn't know Hector well enough to correct his notion. For all I knew, it could be true, but I did my best. "Hector probably has no reason to hate you for following your heart," I soothed. Aeneas looked up at me, disbelief etched deep into his face.

"Not unless it's someone he loves as well," he said.

His words triggered an intense response from my mind that thankfully did not reach my mouth. _Hector has a mistress, _I realized. My heart burned at the memory of his promise to be faithful. And why was Aeneas telling me this, of all people? Could he not see how much he was hurting me?

I hurried to reason with myself. _He is allowed to have mistresses. It was only an arranged marriage. If he found love with some other woman, I should be happy for him._

I concentrated on curving my lips into a false smile, wondering if Aeneas would see past the poorly constructed mask of indifference. "If he loved this woman first, perhaps you should not cut in." The advice sounded reasonable to me.

"But he'll always love her," he protested. "Worse yet, she is royalty. I could not marry her in secret."

_Royalty? _Was there some foreign princess visiting Troy that I did not know about? Perhaps my husband was not riding in the hills, but visiting his lover. "Talk to him about it, Aeneas," I said slowly. "Maybe he doesn't love her as much as you think." In the moment of silence at the end of my words, I heard the heavy footsteps growing quiet as the servant left my chambers.

It was too much to hope for. "Oh, but he does," Aeneas groaned. "He'll never let me marry his sister."

The nauseating weight danced off my mind as soon as he uttered those blessed words. I even smiled slightly.

"Does my plight amuse you?" Aeneas inquired, burying his head in his hands.

"No, not at all!" I assured him. My relief was sliced short as another thought struck me. _Why was I so upset over Hector being with another woman?_

"I do not want to ruin our friendship over a girl," Aeneas continued, oblivious to my worries. "But oh, this maiden…" he trailed off, the merest hint of a smile on his face.

"Which sister are you speaking of?" I asked. He sat up straighter, showing more of his normal self.

"Creusa," he confided in a whisper. His eyes positively glowed as he spoke her name. I had seen that look before, on my brother Dagamede's face when he met his wife. This was obviously love, not infatuation.

"She's a bit young for marriage," I said delicately, not wanting to tread on Aeneas' hopes. Hector was protective of all his siblings, the sisters especially. Creusa was still a few years away from marriage, so I doubted Hector would appreciate his friend's advances.

"I know she is. And she isnine years younger than I," he said with fervor. "But I love her. I want to be her promised husband before she is betrothed to anyone else."

"You must talk to Hector, and tell him of your feelings!" I encouraged him. "And then go to Priam."

He leaned closer to me. "Priam hates me," he muttered. "It's Hector I must convince." Abruptly he took my hand in both of his. "Andromache," he said solemnly. "Promise me you will not breathe a word of this to Hector."

I hesitated. Keeping secrets from Hector was no way to earn his trust. Aeneas squeezed my hand hopefully and I saw that I had no choice.

"I promise," I agreed. He smiled, chastely kissing my cheek before he rose to his feet.

"I am lucky to have you," he said gratefully. As he turned toward the garden's exit, Hector came through it.

All three of us froze. _How much did he hear? _I wondered. He seemed rigid, almost accusatory in his stance, but I could have been imagining it.

Aeneas ended the awkward moment with his god-given charm. "Hello, Hector," he grinned. "Just chatting with your wife. I'll see you at the evening meal," he said quickly, gracefully moving around Hector and straight through the door.

I found myself praying that Hector hadn't heard the mention of Creusa's name, for Aeneas' sake. I got to my feet slowly, trying to think of a way to conceal our conversation without lying to my husband. There was a fraction of a second where I thought Hector's eyes showed comprehension and anger, but as soon as I blinked the expression had vanished.

"I thought you went riding," I said casually.

Hector shifted his weight slightly. "I came back because I was tired," he explained. At the time, particularly at the moment, we weren't confident in admitting that we enjoyed simply being together. Hector told me later that he had come back early to spend the rest of his free time with me. "I think I'll go back up to our chambers and rest," he continued quietly.

"I should work on my weaving," I admitted, though there was nothing I would like less. It was the wifely thing to do.

When we reached our rooms, Hector lay down facing the wall with his back toward me. I could not help but notice that his breathing did not become steady and slow for a long time. He must have lain awake, and I worried that he had heard more than I expected.

I did not find out until two days later. I had not spent much time in those days with Hector nor Aeneas, but had been cooped up weaving and overseeing servants. Finally I tired of those chores. Being a princess of Troy had its advantages- I could pause in my tasks to rest or lounge about. I took a break from the mundane work and left the palace. I was not in good enough humor to visit Briseis or Ilione, and the hike to the temples in the blazing heat made a trip to see Cassandra seem like torture. Instead I strolled to the sandy courtyard Hector used to train new soldiers, hoping he would be there and not in a council.

He was, and so were Aeneas and a small group of soldiers. I stayed on the outside of the chest-height wall, stopping when I found a section that was shaded by a tree. I propped my elbows on the wall and rested my head in my hands as I watched the men train. Ilione had taken me there once before, so I knew that the servants and even female members of the royal family were permitted to watch the drills. I was the lone observer that day.

In the blistering heat, it would have been punishment for the men to wear full armor. Most had stripped down to their skirts and sandals, but a few kept their body armor on despite the sun. Hector and Aeneas were among the smart ones who removed their tunics. They were working separately with different recruits, men fresh out of boyhood who looked nervous to be taught by their commanders.

Aeneas spotted me and waved briefly. They were working with wooden training swords that day, moving in slow sequences that let the new soldiers spot weaknesses and try to hit them. They seemed to be catching on, but a few who looked very nervous were still having trouble. One awkwardly lunged at Hector's bare throat, but Hector's arm was extended before he had completed the move. It was clear that in a real battle, the man would have been impaled.

"Use the shield," Aeneas said when he saw the soldier's mistake. He picked up a light shield and beckoned to Hector to help him demonstrate.

It was then that I saw one of Hector's flaws, and I was amazed. He was a hero, a man larger than life, a legend. But I saw then more than ever that he was human.

I saw the glint in Hector's eyes but thought nothing of it. For a moment, it looked like the pair were executing a practiced attack, but then I saw Aeneas' confused expression. He had to move quickly to block Hector's blows. Hector was powerful enough to force him back, and when Aeneas had his shield raised, he slashed through the air and the broad side of his wooden sword crashed on his friend's hip.

Realization hit me as the blow landed. _No. He wouldn't be that immature. _But at the same time, I knew he would be. It was a trick I had seen in Thebe. When my two eldest brothers had a disagreement, they would fight each other with wooden swords, under the pretense of training. They would bestow bruises until their anger was fully let out, and they could not be punished for their actions, as they never hurt each other badly enough for it to be called a real fight. That was what Hector was doing now, but why?

I thought back to the conversation Aeneas and I had had. _He must know about Creusa, _I thought in dismay. Hector landed another blow, this one softer, and Aeneas lunged forward to swing his own sword at Hector's shin. The soldiers were bewildered. Clearly this was not a practiced match, but there was no way for them to stop it.

"Hector!" I called, knowing exactly how foolish I was being. I could not call him from a fight like a mother would do to her child! He looked up at me with a glare as he parried Aeneas' final defensive thrust. Aeneas stepped back, but Hector's eyes were still locked on mine, a threat burning brightly in them.

_He is going to beat me, _I told myself. It would be a just punishment. A good wife would not interfere, but I could not let him hurt Aeneas. If he had not wanted to tell me, Hector would not have heard. I had some blame in the matter.

Hector's look of rage was too much for me to handle; I lowered my eyes to the ground and fled. Briefly I considered running to the maiden's quarters for refuge; but I knew the beating would be worse if I tried to avoid it. I imagined Hector's huge fists aimed at my face. It would be no more than I deserved, but the thought was still horrifying.

I ended up back in my chambers. I sat down against the wall, drawing my knees up to my chest. Waiting for Hector's return was a nightmare. I was sure that every set of footsteps I heard would bring my pain. After a quarter of an hour, the door flew open.

"I'm sorry," I choked out as Hector stormed into the room. He stomped to where I crouched and wrapped his hands around my shoulders, hauling me up to my feet. Looking into his face, contorted with rage, I first saw the reason people whispered that he was the favorite of Ares.

"I promised to remain faithful to you," he said hotly, tightening his grip. His strong hands sent waves of agony through my arms, and I knew there would be bruises from his grasp the next day. Tears as hot as the sun blurred my vision. "I promised. Did that mean nothing to you?"

"I told him he should tell you," I said shrilly. "He knew you would be angry-"

"_Of course I'm angry!"_ Hector roared. The tears cascaded down my cheeks, leaving wet trails before dropping to the floor. One landed on his wrist, but I doubt he noticed. "I was told you were a woman of honor!"

"I should not have kept it a secret," I blubbered, wishing he would let me go and just hit me. The pain of his fists would be more tolerable than his disappointment.

"You should not have done it at all! You betrayed me in favor of laying with my best friend," he said, shaking me violently as I sobbed. "Were you planning to run away, Andromache? Was he going to marry you in Thebe?"

Suddenly it all became sickeninglyclear. The footsteps I had heard while talking with Aeneas were Hector's. But terrified as I was, I could not think straight. "I have never been unfaithful," I moaned. "I have never lain with him!"

He stopped shaking me. "Would you lie to me?" he asked in a voice a fool would recognize as dangerous.

"No! I swear it!" I pleaded through sobs I could not stop.

"In the garden he said he loved someone royal that I loved as well! And then later you agreed to keep it a secret!"

"It is not I! I swear," I cried desperately. "He confided in me; he wanted my advice, nothing more." It seemed like a hundred more tears had made their trails on my face. "I swear," I said once more.

Abruptly I fell to the floor as Hector released his grip. I crawled back to the wall and curled up, trying to stop crying. Hector stared at his palms in awe before dropping them to his sides.

"Who is it?" he asked, taking a step back from where I was.

"One of your sisters," I whispered, choosing to look at the floor rather than at him. In a flash he was at my side. The hands that had shook me only moments before now caressed my cheekbones, gentle as a lamb.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "I overheard you…I was too angry to think. I'm sorry." I fought to control my sobs, and to convince myself that his hands did not want to hurt me now. More than anything, I did not want to have to fear my husband.

"I will never hurt you again," he whispered, his voice pained. He stroked my shoulder as if trying to heal the bruise, but the wound went deeper than my skin. "I am so sorry," he said again.

I nodded, still afraid. Hector kept his promise and never again lifted a hand to hurt me, but the trust we had established had fractured. It would take more time to repair what was lost, and until then, I could not help but fear what his strong hands could do.

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Thanks so much for reading! No responses to reviews, as I'm not going to have a ton of time on the internet and I'd rather focus on just getting more chapters up. Kudos to anyone who got the 'The Laws of Brotherhood' reference. I just can't let that story be completely dead! Hope you enjoyed, and let me know what you think, since even I didn't expect this chapter to turn out like this.


	15. Shattered Mirror

A/N: I've been doing a lot of research, and as far as I can tell, the art of blown glass was introduced by the Romans, but flat glass was used long before that. I haven't been able to find much about the origins of silvering. I'm going to assume that the technique was available for the story purposes, therefore there were mirrors. If I'm wrong, I apologize, and feel free to correct me, though I doubt it'll do much good at this point.

My Muse has only been visiting me at night, so I've spent as long as I can stay awake every night working on this chapter. Cassandra's back! Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Fifteen: Shattered Mirror 

In a way, Hector's moment of unrestrained physical rage was beneficial to me. I was exposed to more of him than ever before. I saw past his kindness to the fire that fueled him in battle. The incident terrified me. In a single moment Hector destroyed much of the trust I had in him. I wanted to withdraw, treat him coldly, and give myself distance.

But I would not let myself.

I do not know what drove me, but I still desperately wanted to trust him. He swore never to hurt me again, and I wanted to believe him. One part of me blamed myself-- I was not the ideal wife, and on many levels I did deserve to be beaten. Another part of me was in awe of Hector's power. I had only a moments introduction to the raging warrior side of him, but still I feared for his enemies. But the largest part was both stunned and infuriated by the incident. I hated that he hurt me with no thought, as if I meant nothing to him.

I wanted to mean something to him.

As quickly as I was exposed to Hector's rage, I was treated to his shame. I made it a point to wear clothes that covered the bruises until they faded; I didn't want the servants to see and add it to their impressive array of ridiculous stories. Even so, I caught my husband staring at my shoulders, like he could see past the cloth to his mistake.

So he treated me with even more kindness. He bought me gifts. Most were not large or extravagent; I think he wanted to be more subtle than that. Mysterious objects appeared amongst my possessions: simple bangles, a bright red gown, hair ornaments. I felt guilty for accepting the gifts, but giving them eased his own guilt. The final gift he gave me was a looking glass from Egypt. It was almost as tall as I was, smooth in the center, but around the edges it would distort the image it reflected. My servant Cleita and the other maids looked into the mirror whenever they were given the opportunity. They moved side to side and giggled at the strange bodies the mirror reflected. I used to mirror to apply kohl when I didn't want to deal with maidservants. When I was in Thebe, my mother had a glass much like that one, only the images it presented were even more bizarre and unrealistic. I thanked Hector for the gift, but was even more grateful that it was the last one.

In the weeks that followed the incident, Hector didn't have much free time. Various councils sometimes lasted the entire day. There were also bandits at the Scamander, and rumors of new leadership among the Hittites, and each issue required his attention. One night he did not return to our bed until dawn streaked across the sky; he threw his bloodied armor on the floor and fell into a restless sleep. Weeks passed before he had a day to relax. I promised myself I'd be ready to face him when that day came. I wanted to use it to mend the tears in our friendship. I wanted to convince myself that I _did _mean something to him.

But early that morning, I took one look at his sleeping form and I couldn't do it. I was not ready to trust him again, to spend time with him or let him know me. I was lucky. Cassandra rescued me.

After a maid quietly alerted me to Cassandra's presence, I met her outside the front entry. I wasn't surprised to see her there, even though I knew she had gone back to serve at Apollo's temple. She was allowed to leave whenever she wished; Priam said serving the god who had condemned her saddened and angered her if she stayed too long. Though the morning was warm she wore a cloak, with the hood pulled down low to cover most of her face. Still, there was no mistaking the brief glimpses of honey gold eyes that showed when the wind lifted her hood, and the low, chilling voice that greeted me.

No formalities were exchanged, but from only two meetings I knew not to expect them. "I know why you fear the ivy vines," she said suddenly.

The observation shocked me into denial-- was it really so obvious? "I do not fear a mere plant," I defended myself, but she continued on as if I hadn't spoken.

"I know what Aeneas told you. I know why you do not trust Hector's strength anymore. I know you will look at that scar in year to come as see it as Hector, reflected in every memory you cherish."

A chill swept down my back. She dared speak what I wasn't even brave enough to acknowledge. She knew everything. But one thing she said wasn't right. Hector had only bruised me. The only scar I had was from colliding with an armed guard as a child. It had nothing to do with my husband.

"What scar?" I asked, almost expecting her to point to the triangular scar on my knee, courtesy of the guard's spear. But she plucked up my right hand.

"There," she said, tracing a line on the side of my index fingertip. "That scar."

There was no scar, only unmarred skin.

I dropped my hand to my side, where it hung stiffly. "There is nothing--"

But she was speaking again, her voice rapid with something resembling excitement. "Andromache, come with me. Let me show you something. Please come. Please."

I thought of Hector, still asleep in our bed. _He'd rather spend the day with his family than with me, _I assured myself. Within ten minutes, we were hiking up the paved trails to the temples of Troy, with an uneasy guard at our side.

"You are not tired, my lady?" he asked, and I told him I wasn't. Every word he said was directed at me; the man clearly feared Cassandra. I had fears of my own. I wanted to avoid Aphrodite's temple at all costs.

I did not need to worry. Cassandra breezed past the temple of Aphrodite, marching determinedly to a different one. I knew what goddess the structure was dedicated to; I had seen it when I made the pre-wedding offerings, though I had not actually gone inside it.

We entered Athena's temple silently, respectfully, leaving our guard at the door. As with all places devoted to worshipping the gods, it was beautiful. Thick white pillars reached to the sky, elegantly bearing the weight of the stones on top. Statues of maidens wearing virgin's robes guarded the entry, armed with stone amphorae. The roof was no more than a narrow strip of stones around the pillars, leaving the building open to the sky. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this temple was that it had no statue to represent Athena. Every other temple in Troy had a towering idol of the god it served.

The temple of Athena needed no such statue, carved and painted by the hands of men and women who served her. She had made her own.

It lay in the center of the square room, on a bare patch of earth surrounded by stone flooring. No one walked very close to it, not even the temple servants. It was not tall, only about half my height. There were ragged patches of brown and gray on the shining black stone, hidden in the curves of the twisted figure. It vaguely resembled a woman. Her torso was bent at a painful angle, one arm pinned behind her back, the other covering her face. Each body part melted into the other-there were no finer pieces, like fingers or ears. The figure had too many joints and bends in her legs, and the arm that was pinned would surely have been broken if she were made of flesh and bone.

"The Palladium," Cassandra whispered serenely. I knew the tale. Goddess Athena had accidentally killed one of her companions, Pallas. So great was her grief and remorse that she created this image of her friend, and sent it howling down to the mortals, to Troy. Those elders who had seen it land claimed it was impossible to lift. They built a temple where it stood.

I couldn't help but stare at the image. Why Athena had created the figure of her friend trapped in so much agony, I could not understand.

Cassandra knelt a few feet from the base of the idol, holding her palms reverently to the sky as she prayed. I had never seen her so at peace. She wasn't smiling, but she looked content. She was entirely comfortable in the presence of gods. I got on my knees behind her, less at ease. I murmured the normal prayer, asking for wisdom to guide me through hardships, as well as the mercy of the goddess. But once I was through, I opened one eye to see Cassandra still praying.

I could not leave without her, so I closed my lids once more. This time I prayed for whatever reasonable things came to mind. I asked the goddess to protect Hector in battle, to ensure Troy's victories, to lend her wisdom to its leaders. And as an afterthought, I repeated the same for my family and Thebe.

When I was finished, Cassandra was standing. We exited the temple as quietly as we had come. We retrieved our guard and started back toward the citadel when my new sister spoke.

"I prayed for you," she whispered. I should have been grateful, but I felt a strong desire to let out a scream of frustration. "I prayed for you, because you need strength to follow your heart."

"I thank you," I said politely.

"No, you don't," she replied. "You have never wanted the strength to surrender. But it is something you need."

Her words were making my head ache. _She makes no sense! She doesn't know what she is talking about! _I couldn't keep up with her labyrinth of prophecies. "Thank you for taking me to the temple, anyway."

It shames me now to say that as soon as we reached the citadel, I rushed away from her. I wasn't in the mood for her thoughts and opinions. I called a quick farewell over my shoulder, which she did not bother to answer, before racing into my husband's palace.

I was surprised to find Hector in our chambers. I though he would have left already, either to go riding or visit his brothers. He looked up from his seat on a stool as I walked in. "Where were you?" he asked, sounding almost hurt. Well, he had a right to be. I should have asked his permission.

"Cassandra took me to the temple of Athena. I should have told you, but you were sleeping," I said as a way of apology, moving toward the table that held my comb. My hair was a mess. As I passed the mirror, I marveled at the way the glass angled and rippled my body. That made me think of the Palladium, so I pushed the thought aside. "What are you doing today?"

Hector stretched his arms high above his head. He was bare chested, clad only in the skirt he wore to bed. The sight of him stretching was impressive, though I chided myself for thinking it. "I want to stay here with you and rest," he said lazily, smiling at me with only his eyes. "We'll talk all afternoon for all the weeks I've been too busy."

"All right," I agreed, actually liking his idea. I tried to step past the mirror and take a seat, but the sleeve of my gown caught on the looking glass.

I was warned when I recieved the mirror of just how fragile it was, but still it was hard to believe. Before I could catch it, the mirror swayed backwards. My eyes widened as it crashed to the ground, breaking into tiny pieces as it fell. A merry tinkling sound accompanied the short spray of silver shards, and then the looking glass was nothing more than a shower of bright, abstract shapes littering the floor.

"Oh, no," I moaned, mourning the loss of the treasure. _I broke the gift he gave me! _Hector was at my side in an instant.

"Don't worry yourself, Andromache. They come in from Egypt often," he tried to console me, but still I felt terrible. It was an expensive gift, and I ruined it with my carelessness. I knelt to try and pick up the shards. I had no hope of salvaging it, but I still felt the need to gather the broken bits.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "It was a beautiful gift." A sudden pain in my index finger made me yank my hand back.

"It's sharp!" Hector warned, too late. "I'll call a servant to clean it, love, don't worry," he said comfortingly, dropping to my level. Blood was flowing from my finger, dripping quickly to the floor. I cursed my stupidity. "Here," Hector offered, taking my hand delicately in his. Without hesitation, he wrapped the bleeding finger in the folds of his skirt and applied pressure. I didn't look at him directly, embarassed by his touch, but rather at his reflection in the thousand broken shards. I shivered, but it was not from cold.

I still have a scar from that day, no more than a thin white line now, here on my finger. Cassandra was right. When I see it now, I am reminded of Hector as he once was and will never be again. He, like the mirror, used to be whole. And in one unstoppable moment, he was taken from me. Now I can only see him in a thousand broken memories. This scar you see, my friend, is a symbol of my helplesness.

That is why I try not to look at it.

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I'll have more as soon as I can. I can promise that before Chapter 20, at least 2 very important events will happen, both very crucial to Hector and Andromache's relationship. It's about time they realize they're falling in love. Thanks so much for reading, and thank you to everyone that reviews! When I write, I try to create a feeling for the reader, and it's nice to know when I succeed. Thanks! 


	16. A Playful Feast

A/N: Ha! An update that didn't take me half a century! My Muse attacked me and made me write out bits and pieces up to chapter 20, so the updates will be fairly fast until then.

Two things: One, the Palladium in the last chapter was a meteorite, I forgot to say that. And two, the baby Troilus is actually Troilius. It wouldn't be a big deal except that they're two different people, and I made an error. I've changed his name in the earlier chapters to the correct one. It may seem like I'm being anal, I know, but the one I need for this story is the one fathered by a god, not the Troilus of Shakespeare.

On with the show! Hope you like this chapter.

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Chapter Sixteen: A Playful Feast 

Two months after my wedding, the palace buzzed with the prospect of another union. Priam had decided it was time for his eldest daughter Ilione to marry. In no time at all, three suitors were begging for her hand. I was surprised she didn't have more. The man who married Ilione would have Troy as an ally, and that was a valuable asset indeed. Then again, Ilione wasn't particularly beautiful, or she would have had more suitors.

The three men arrived within a week of each other. In the days before they arrived, the servants were busy cleaning and polishing everything in the palace that they could take a damp rag to. Priam housed the suitors in his own palace, far from each other so as not to cause conflict. They met with Priam and Ilione one at a time, but a few days after the last arrived, the king announced that we were having a feast to welcome all three. It was the perfect time for the family to judge the men, though I doubted anyone would have much influence over Priam's decision, save for maybe Hecuba and Hector. More importantly, it was a chance for the suitors to see that power they could marry in to.

It did not take me long to prepare for the banquet. I pulled on the red dress Hector had given me, and Cleita styled my hair in a matter of minutes. I ended up impatiently waiting on my husband. Surprisingly, he took much longer than I did to ready himself.

Before he was fully dressed, he used a leather tie to strap a sheathed dagger to his thigh. A much shorter knife was stuffed into his sandal. A long strip of leather with sharp bronze studs, wrapped around a fist to make a punch more effective, was tucked between the skin of his waist and his underskirt. He reached for a richly embroidered peplos, much finer than the clothes he was comfortable in--the ones I was always mending. It was rude to wear armor and carry weapons openly while meeting guests; otherwise I'm sure he would have donned his bloodstained breastplate.

"Are you paranoid?" I teased.

Hector smiled sheepishly, looking down at the bulges from the knives and leather. "We have to be careful," he said. "We don't know if these guests have plans other than marriage."

Priam had been telling me tales of Troy. Though he hadn't gone into great detail, he spoke of his family. He said that long ago, Zeus took his brother Ganymede to be a cupbearer for the gods, giving his father King Laomedon gifts in exchange. He gave him two swift horses, both sired by the gods, from which Hector's own precious horses were descended. And because Apollo and Poseidon had offended Zeus, he put them to work for Laomedon for a year. It was said that they constructed the impenetrable walls, but Laomedon did not pay them. When Poseidon sent a sea serpent to plague him, he was going to sacrifice his daughter Hesione. Instead, Heracles rescued her. He rescued her, then killed her entire family, save for Priam.

When I asked Hector about the truth in this legend, he shrugged. "Poseidon and Apollo may have built our walls, but not without help," he said darkly. "I know two hundred slaves died from the labor. Graves do not lie. And my father was not spared by mercy- he bought his own life with treasures from the palace. Heracles' small army killed most of the royal family, leaving torched houses and corpses in their wake."

No wonder Hector was so cautious.

He wasn't the only one carrying concealed weapons. The guards of Priam's dining hall had extra spears lying hidden in the shadows. Aeneas, Deiphobus, and Helenus nodded slightly at Hector when we entered. Despite the possible threat, the atmosphere in the hall was warm and cheerful. Priam stood at the head of the long table, waiting for silence. Hector and I hurriedly slid into our usual seats on the bench as the king began to speak.

"Will our guests please stand," he said, his voice carrying through the entire room without much effort on his part. Three men, all relatively close to the head of the table, stood at his command. I looked them over, appraising them as everyone else was doing. The eldest looked to be at least twice Hector's age. His bulging belly was half covered by a well oiled graying beard. His thick, meaty hands dangled threateningly by his side. I pitied Ilione if this was who she had to wed.

The next was about ten years younger than the old man. He held himself stiffly, with his legs wide apart; the stance of a soldier used to obeying orders. He had straight brown hair that brushed his skinny shoulders. Sharp features and a scarred brow kept him from being handsome, but he wasn't repulsive like the first suitor.

The last man appeared to be almostDeiphobus' age, a boy not yet comfortable in his manhood. His face lacked a beard. Instead, it held a look of absolute confidence, dangerously bordering on arrogance. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving the illusion of being in charge.

Priam introduced the old man as Pylaeus of Larisa, cousin to the city's king. The second man was Eurypylus of Mysia, the firstborn prince. And the youngest, to my surprise, was Orontes of Lycia, who my father came close to marrying me off to. When I learned his identity, I looked him over more critically. Too young, too proud, too short, and his nose was _enormous_.

All the suitors were eager to please what could be their future family. Before long, Eurypylus had engaged Priam in conversation, while Pylaeus joked with Paris, who looked uneasy around such a loud man. Orontes' bragging became nothing more than background noise as I picked at the fruit and meat on my plate. I stole a glance at Ilione. She wore dark kohl and lip color, along with a bright form-fitting gown. I felt nothing but sympathy for her. Only months before, I had been in her position. When I looked at her suitors, I had to admit I was lucky to get Hector.

A loud snort of laughter from Pylaeus brought my attention back to the suitors. He lifted his wine goblet high, but by the way he swayed on his feet, it was clear he'd had too much already. "To Ilione, the fairest of Priam's daughters!"

Hector eyed him pityingly. I felt the same; his toast was terrible. He had just insulted all eleven of Priam's other daughters, and spoken a falsehood. Cassandra was the most beautiful, but since no one liked to talk about her, they said Laodice was.

"The fairest maiden in Troy," Eurypylus added enthusiastically. That was even worse--he insulted every woman in the city! I heard Hector sigh and had to turn away. I knew I would not be able to contain my laughter if I looked at him.

"A creation of Aphrodite herself," Orontes continued the speech, deliberately raising his glass higher than those of the other men. "Her beauty shines like a star. She is perfect, a true blessing to mankind." His speech was obviously rehearsed, but he spoke with such fervor that I felt a knot of laughter rising in my throat. When Orontes met Ilione's eyes and nodded deeply, I clamped one hand over my mouth and shook with silent laughter. Hector leaned forward to meet my eyes, and I saw that he too was struggling with his dignity. And then restraint was impossible.

A giggle escaped my lips; I hurried to mask it with coughing. Hector, trying to contribute to my facade while holding back his own chuckles, hit me lightly on the back. "Are you well, Andromache?" he asked, feigning concern.

"Oh, yes. Must have swallowed wrong," I explained, pursing my lips to avoid a smile. "To Ilione," I toasted. The rest of the table echoed my words, and I kept my eyes focused forward. If I so much as glanced to my side at my husband, I knew I would erupt into laugher again.

Unfortunately, I found myself looking at Orontes. His eyes had widened considerably at the mention of my name. He must have remembered me, though we never met. Twice during the meal he tried to lure me into conversation, but I deflected his words with a smile and spoke to Laodice instead. As soon as it was appropriate to leave, Hector and I exited.

"Those toasts," he grinned, remembering.

"Pylaeus and his snorting," I countered.

"He was quick to brag that he used to lead an army. I hope he was more athletic at the time."

"Eurypylus talked very excitedly about his city's sheep," I reminded him, making him chuckle.

"And that haughty one, Orontes... he was staring at you as if enamored."

I shuddered, remembering it. "He was my suitor, too," I admitted, curling my lip in disgust. "My father considered sending me off to him, before you offered."

Hector took my hand. "I would truly pity you if you were his wife. He's unbearable."

"He is," I agreed, the warmth of his hand soaking into my own.

"Even worse," he said, his voice solemn. "Your children would have terribly large noses."

That was all I could take. I broke into laughter, and so did he. Walking was too difficult to do while we were in hysterics, so we leaned against the wall until our mirth subsided.

"I don't think Ilione will be marrying him," Hector said to my relief. I hoped Eurypylus made a fine offer. Though he was overly excited about his livestock and not very pleasing to look upon, he was better than the other two suitors.

The sound of a child crying mingled with desperate humming, and the noise drifted around the corridor to our ears. A moment later, a nurse turned the corner. She had a squirming Troilius in her arms; he wiggled unhappily, his face twisted with sobs. The nurse looked exhausted, and the toddler was miserable. Hector stepped to the woman's aid.

"What's the matter?"

The nurse stopped her humming and looked up at Hector with tired eyes. "My lord, the little prince will not sleep. I thought taking him on a walk around the palace would lull him to sleep, but still he cries." She was clearly distressed. She shifted the boy's weight in her arms, but it was obvious that her strength was waning.

"Give him to me," Hector said kindly. The woman started to protest, but Troilius shrieked and stretched his chubby hands toward his older brother. Taking the child from the nurse, Hector told her to get some rest. She nodded gratefully and left the way she came.

"Not tired, brother?" Hector said soothingly, holding the boy upright. Troilius still frowned and whined, but his eyes were dry. "Do you mind if we walk with him until he sleeps? He's fussy sometimes."

"Not at all," I agreed. Troilius stared at me and let out a howl, then patted Hector's shoulder impatiently, and we began to stroll. Hector rocked his brother gently, even humming to him. After going down two long corridors, his frown slowly faded to a pout. As if surrendering, he blew a saliva bubble and dropped his head onto Hector's shoulder, keeping his eyes open.

"He doesn't look much like your father," I noted. Most of Priam's sons had at least one facial feature that mirrored their father's. Hector had his stubborn jaw line, and Helenus inherited his cheekbones. Troilius looked nothing like Priam. His lips were full, and his hair had a noticeable gold tint to it.

"He was fathered by Apollo," Hector replied, stroking Troilius' smooth ckeek with two fingers. "My mother bore him."

He said it casually, but I was not yet accustomed to god-swept troy. He was holding the son of a god! "Is your father not jealous?" I blurted out.

Troilius' eyes were partially closed. He burrowed his head closer to Hector's neck. "My father feels blessed to raise Apollo's son as his own," Hector answered. "He's a beautiful child. He has a strong arm. He'll be a fine soldier some day. The whole family dotes on him, I confess."

"He is beautiful," I agreed. He was asleep already, his long lashes dusting his cheeks. Still maintaining the same slow pace, Hector led the way to the nursery. I opened the door, since his arms were wrapped around the child. He carefully lay his brother in a bassinet. Troilius wrinkled his nose and stretched his hand, but he stayed asleep.

We found a maidservant outside to watch him until his nurse returned, then walked at a leisurely pace back to Hector's palace. Hector made an attempt at polite conversation, but I didn't feel like talking, so he took my hand instead. I was deep in thought. I wondered why the gods took such an interest in Troy. The many instances of godly interference swept through my mind: Zeus taking Ganymede, Poseidon's serpent, Apollo fathering Troilius, Aphrodite appearing in my dream.

"You will not need my help," she said.

The hand that Hector held in his own was warm, comfortable. I pulled it away.

The goddess had to be wrong.

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Thanks so much for reading, and I really appreciate the reviews. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I get around to typing it. 


	17. Days of Ignorance, Nights of Truth

A/N: I'm glad some of you voted for the suitor you wanted! Made it a lot of fun to read the reviews. Thanks very much for all the feedback, it was wonderful to hear, and I hope you like how things are turning out.

This chapter is dedicated to **Lariren-Shadow **and **Lady Hades**, who both helped me when I was panicking over this story, and lent me their brilliant minds so I could write this, as well as their opinions on future chapters.

Warning: This chapter's a little choppy, but it shouldn't be too hard to follow.

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Chapter Seventeen: Days of Ignorance, Nights of Truth 

The suitors waited for all of three days for Priam's decision on who would marry his daughter. Their offers were made, their fates unchangeable. Though I knew they must be awaiting the news tensely, none showed it. Eurypylus wandered around the citadel quietly, while Pylaeus kept to his loud jokes and snorting. Orontes, shockingly, eyed other women of the palace, including myself. Naturally I wanted to be as far away from the lusty brute as possible, but even after all my careful avoidance techniques, I collided with him in a hallway. I reached an arm toward the wall, therefore catching my balance, but Orontes was not so lucky. He stumbled embarassingly, swaying on his feet.

"Watch where you're going, woman!" he snapped. My mouth had been open to apologize for my clumsiness, but as soon as I realized who I ran into, the words in my throat changed tone.

"I am a Princess of Troy and will be treated as such," I said coldly. The words were strange, heavy on my tongue, like some unusual spice I had the privelege of tasting. It was the first time I had invoked my status, or even acknowledged it, other than wearing my crown. The look of anger on Orontes' face was well worth using that new phrase.

"So I hear," he said, tone mocking as he stepped past me. "My apologies, _Princess_."

As I flounced out the opposite way, my only thoughts were that I was very, very lucky not to marry him, and not only because of his tragically large nose.

Much to the family's relief, Eurypylus was chosen to be Ilione's husband. They left in great haste, for no man likes to leave his property-- sheep included-- unattended for long. Many tears were shed at the Princess' departure, for she had forty-nine siblings that would miss her, not to mention cousins. Laodice was particularly sad to see her go, and even Cassandra came out to say goodbye. Hector embraced and kissed his sister, offering words of comfort, but he did not cry.

"It's for the best," he said as we watched the ship glide toward the horizon. The waves of the calm sea reflected Apollo's light in blinding flashes, giving the ship a send-off of their own. "It's for the best."

I didn't agree. I knew what Ilione was experiencing, and I knew how frightening it was. Even though Hector was confident about the arrangement, I prayed for the best.

It wasn't until later that he showed some remorse. We had just retired to bed, and the room was lit by only a sliver of the moon. "I'll miss Ilione," he admitted, startling me into opening my eyes. I had been close to sleep, but my husband had other things on his mind. "We used to bicker so much as children." More silence. Just when I thought it was safe to close my eyes again, he spoke again, this time in alarm. "Andromache?"

"Mmm?"

"Ilione wasn't the one Aeneas loves, was she?"

Would I be breaking my oath to Aeneas by answering the question? I decided it was safe. "No, not Ilione," I answered sleepily.

"Good." Hector crossed his arms behind his head, looking very much awake. "Not Cassandra, I hope?"

I laid still, staring up at the ceiling. If I answered any more suspicions, he'd go through the rest of his sisters and have his answer.

"And if it were Polyxena...well, she's only a child," he mused. A quiet moment went by before he bolted up, propping his head on his elbow as he faced me. "It's Creusa, isn't it! He's always talking with her at celebrations. He loves Creusa!"

I rolled over so my back was toward him, not about to confirm his theory. "Good night, Hector."

"Oh, you can deny it, but I'm right. I can't believe I did not see it!" he said, pleased with himself. I felt him flop back down, content. I sighed and let my lids drift down...

"Then again, he's always buying trinkets for Laodice, and she's closer to his age--"

"Hector. Go to sleep," I pleaded hoarsely.

"So it is Laodice?"

"Hector!" I growled.

"Good night," he consented, leaning over to press a quick kiss to my temple before stretching out to sleep. Amazingly, I was wide awake after that.

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Hector was not by my side in the morning. I both welcomed and hated his absence, for is saved me the pressure of being in his company, but it left me alone with my thoughts. Why had I panicked over a chaste bedtime kiss? Hector kissed his sisters in the same way. He did it on impulse and it meant nothing to him; it should not have mattered to me. 

"Did you sleep well?" Hector's voice interrupted my thoughts. I shot into a sitting position, causing the sleeve of my night robe to slip onto my shoulder. I tugged it back into place as I saw where the voice was coming from. Hector crouched behind the stand that held his armor, inspecting it.

"Yes," I lied. He stood to examine the upper parts of his breastplate, clearly engrossed in his work. I followed his careful inspection with my eyes, watching his long fingers as they fiddled with the bronze. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Some pieces were damaged in the fight with the bandits," he answered distractedly. For a moment I was glad he wasn't wounded in that fight, then realized I had no idea if he was. I hadn't thought to ask. "There are a few weak spots."

"Oh." I drew the bedsheets up higher, wondering how I was going to get dressed. Hector's armor was situated right next to the screen I changed behind for privacy, making it ineffective. I decided to wait, searching my tired mind for something that could pass as an attempt at intelligent conversation. Meanwhile, Hector's concentration had doubled. He ran his hands over his greaves, and a curious pink blush crept up his cheeks. "Do you think it's possible to love someone you haven't known for very long?" he asked suddenly, looking up briefly before staring hard at his armor.

Fool that I was, I assumed he was talking about Ilione's marriage. "Do you mean in an arranged marriage?"

"Yes."

I thought of my mother and father, and how miserable they were. I thought of my brother Euklides and his wife, who tolerated each other but kept their distance. I remembered Ilione's glum face at the feast as Eurypylus complimented her gown. "No," I said finally. "I don't believe in love in an arranged union."

The silence that followed was painful. Hector's face got even pinker, and I wondered why he was acting so strangely. "I'm going to the armory," he muttered, snatching up his cuirass. He did not look at me as he fled from our rooms.

I sat frozen, stung by his quick departure. Was he angry because he wanted Ilione to find love? I doubted love was that important to him. I gazed at the place where he had just been standing, and another possibility planted itself in my mind. I crushed it as quickly as it came. _He wasn't speaking of me, _I chided myself.

And if I tried hard enough, I could even stem the river of disappointment that accompanied that thought.

I knew Hector had the entire morning free, and only one council early in the afternoon, but he did not return to the palace all day. I met him for supper in Priam's palace and sat next to him as usual, but he barely spoke to me. He greeted me unsmilingly and spent the rest of the meal conversing with Aeneas. I ate in annoyed silence, speaking to Creusa when she politely included me in another conversation. I was burning to speak to my husband, to confront him on his childish behavior, but I had to wait. When he showed no signs of leaving the dining hall after we ate, I gave up and left without him. Helenus was kind enough to escort me home.

"Did you and Hector have an argument?" he asked sympathetically as soon as we were out the door.

"No," I answered. There was a slight chill in the air, a telltale sign of a wet winter to come. I wished I had worn a shawl. "He asked my opinion on finding love in an arranged marriage, and I said I doubted the idea. He hasn't spoken to me since."

Helenus' eyes lit up at my words, which I thought was a bit rude. "He asked about love?"

"He asked regarding Ilione," I said stubbornly. "I'm sure she will be happy."

Helenus' face was an ill-masked storm of worry, pride, and joy. He chewed on his lower lip, struggling with what to say. "I imagine Hector will be talking to you before long," he finally said. "He's sometimes a bit...fearful of..." he trailed off, as if unsure how much he could divulge. I knew he wanted to say more, but I wasn't sure how much I wanted to hear. I bid him goodnight as we reached Hector's palace, then raced inside.

My husband arrived home two hours later as I was preparing for bed. He smelled faintly of wine, but he did not stumble, so it was impossible to determine how much he drank. "What kept you?" I asked, debating between apologizing or letting him be angry with me. What was I going to apologize for? After all, I wasn't sure what I had done to earn his anger.

"Aeneas, Deiphobus, and I went for a stroll," he answered with no warmth to his voice. I decided to try to resolve the issue.

"Why did you avoid me all day?" I accused, knowing I was testing the limits of his patience. He cast a dark look in my direction.

"I was busy," he mumbled. I climbed into the empty bed, facing the wall though it wasn't terribly comfortable to do so.

"If you say so," I replied. Before he could defend himself further, I spoke again. "I'm sorry for whatever I said. I did not mean to anger you."

The room became quiet, and I feared I would get no response. "You didn't anger me," Hector said at last, breaking down the barrier that stood between us. "I was being foolish. I'm sorry." He slid into bed beside me. I was happy that our argument was over, even though it left things somewhat awkward between us. Secretly I wished for a good-night kiss, but I didn't recieve one. Hector must have consumed more wine than I thought, because his breathing was slowed by sleep in a matter of minutes.

I cautiously rolled onto my side, facing Hector. He was stretched out across the bed, with one leg straight and one curled a bit. His arms were flung haphazardly across the sheets, and one was only inches from where I lay. I waited to make sure he was truly asleep before giving into my weakness. Inch my inch, I scooted closer, gently laying my hand on his own. I curled around his arm until my head nearly rested on his shoulder, and the back of my neck tingled from being so near to him.

I laid like that until I was almost asleep, then moved back to my side of the bed and faced the wall, so Hector would never know that I needed that closeness. In the morning light, our friendship would be the same as it always was, and my moment of surrender would be no more than a crystal memory.

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I hope that wasn't too disjointed. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who reviews! 


	18. Tremors of the Earth and Heart

A/N: Patience, patience, my dear readers. I know I've dragged out this whole love thing (just to torture you all, of course!) but I think you'll like how it's resolved. Bear with me for a few more chapters, you'll see!

And in answer to **Gaby**'s question, the wedding night wasn't in here, mostly because I think even though Andromache is telling her life story, she'd keep some things a bit more private. And I'm going to keep this PG13, unless it goes over for violence...because I like writing violence. Bad habit, I know, and I know some of you aren't happy about the lack of wedding night! Also, **Scribe of FF**, thank you for the advice! I tried to make this chapter longer, hope you like it. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, sorry that I'm not doing responses anymore, but I really appreciate your feedback.

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Chapter Eighteen: Tremors of the Earth and Heart 

Apologies were not nearly enough to resolve the tension between Hector and I. We were no longer openly having a disagreement, and I was so confused about our argument that I didn't push the issue. But we both acted differently toward each other. I minded my tongue so I wouldn't say anything to upset him, and he matched my politeness with his own. For the next few days, the rare conversations we had were brief and dull. Those awkward words we exchanged were not nearly as painful as the fact that Hector spent less and less time with me. At first I thought he was just busy, but even when he had free time he spent it away from our home. Then I suspected a mistress, but Aeneas knew of my concern and assured me that was not the case. According to him, Hector was busy training soldiers and horses.

"He'd never have time for another woman," Aeneas joked, then lapsed into a more serious tone. "He would never dishonor you like that, Andromache."

Though I waved the words away as if they were of no consequence, I was glad to hear them. I clung tightly to the hope that Hector really was too occupied to spend much time with me. But as his absences grew longer and our conversations became more clipped, I had to face the truth: he was keeping me at a distance. I had brought myself to trust him, even after he gave me reason not to. We had a comfortable friendship, and it stung me that he was willing to forget that. I didn't know why he wanted to shove me away, but I had put too much effort into our marriage for him to succeed. I had to put an end to our argument, and that meant confronting him about why he was avoiding me. After a few more days of seeing my husband only at supper and before bed, I built up enough courage to talk to him.

That night he was absent at the evening meal. Priam said that one of his prized stallions was ill, and Hector was trying to treat him. From the note of concern in the king's voice, I knew Hector would try his hardest to save the horse, even if it was doomed. That meant he probably would not be home until late. When I returned to the palace, I considered backing out of my vow to confront him. After all, he would not appreciate having to defend himself late at night, when he was tired. But I knew if I didn't talk to him then, I might never have the strength to face him later. I sat down in a wooden chair to await his return; but as the dark hours passed, I drifted into a dreamless sleep, promising myself that I would only rest for a few minutes.

I woke to the soft orange glow of torchlight bathing the tan shoulder my cheek rested against. A flood of giddiness swept through my partially awake body. I reached one toe out to try to stand, but the floor was far beneath me, and I couldn't bring myself to care. I was in Hector's arms, weightless as he carried me across the room to our bed. Warmth and security covered me like a blanket, lingering even after he set me down lightly on the sheets. I sighed contentedly, my eyes stubbornly staying shut, my limbs refusing to stretch.

"You've been avoiding me," I mumbled, the words I planned to say surfacing from the sleepy gray haze that clouded my mind.

"Hush," he said, but I did not have the energy to speak more anyway. The weight of Hector's arm across my abdomen was pleasant, a gentle chain binding me to him. My last thought before I went to sleep was a vague recollection of cuddling close to him as he slept, only days before. I was pleased that he chose to lie so close to me. I wanted to savor that feeling, but sleep came on swift wings to claim me, and I could put up no resistance.

In the late morning light, Hector's side of the bed was empty except for a wrinkled imprint of his body. The memory of him lying next to me was so distant that I wondered if I had dreamed it all. "Hector?" I called, rubbing one hand across the place on my ribs where his arm had rested. There was no answer.

_He's avoiding me still, _I told myself bitterly, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was probably checking in on the sick stallion, or taking care of the corpse if he hadn't been able to help him. I thought about taking a short trip to the stables to see if the beast had lived, but I knew I had too much to do. It was nearly time for the annual re-painting and re-clothing of the giant statues of the gods in the temples, and Hecuba had asked the princesses to help weave the new mantles. No loom was large enough to make the cloth, so many pieces would have to be sewn together to clothe the idols. My maids and I were given thread dyed a bright yellow to make the cloak for Apollo's temple, and if we did not start weaving that day, we would have the god's wrath to face.

Five maids were helping with the task, but it was still tedious. We worked in the weaving room separate from my chambers. I did not often weave in there, preferring the wide space of my own rooms over the crowded weaving room. Six looms were crammed into the tiny room, leaving little space for the weaver to sit or stand. Baskets heaped with wool, thread, and bottles of dye lined the walls, adding to the disorganized atmosphere. The walls were bare of tapestries and painting, and there was only one small window. One had to move carefully to avoid knocking over the looms. When the room was filled with chattering maids working at their cloth, it seemed even more cramped, and there was nothing that could ease that feeling except to try to ignore it. I went methodically about my work, staying silent and listening boredly to the latest gossip.

"I wonder when Prince Deiphobus will marry," one girl mused, her yellow cloth expanding rapidly with little thought from her. I envied her skill.

"Never. He's far too sullen. I'll wager they find Prince Helenus a bride long before him."

"It wouldn't surprise me if Troilius was grown and married before his brother!" another said, inciting great peals of laughter from the other maids. They went on to argue over who would be more handsome, Troilius when he was older, or Aeneas at the time. Knowing that they were comparing two demigods, I could not pick a winner.

The maids' incessant chatter progressed to the rumor of a romance between one of Priam's manservants and Laodice's newest maid, and my attention drifted. The voices of the girls mingled togther, but I no longer tried to discern what was being said. My world shrunk down to the vibrant yellow cloth between my fingers, and the steady river of thoughts in my head.

The first place my mind fled to was Thebe. I wondered what my family was doing, filling in the mystery with my own speculation. Most of my brothers would be away with the army, though Arias and Euklides would probably remain at home to guard the city. My oldest nephew was probably learning to walk, and Dagamede's wife had probably had her baby already. I hoped it was a girl, as that had been her wish. My mother and father surely fought as much as they always had. I doubted anything had changed with my absence. It was strange to remember how different I was only months before. I would have given anything to stay in Thebe, and now Troy was my home. I had a routine and a life there. Even if I wanted to, my heart would never allow me to leave.

I follwed that ribbon of thought cautiously, knowing where it would ultimately lead: Hector. Almost every time I thought of him, I ended up feeling childish and confused, with unanswered questions that I would never be brave enough to ask. Yet whenever I was with him, that odd feeling disappeared. I did not delve too deep into my feelings for him. I thought it best to bury them.

A roar of laughter from the maids snapped me back to reality. A quick glance at my weaving showed one tangled flaw, a few rows up. I would have to go back and redo the entire section. I started to pick apart my work, but my whole body protested. After the free reign of my thoughts, the room was just too small. There was a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest, and that tantalizing strip of sky the window revealed seemed to be the only cure.

"I'm going to get some air," I stated, stepping away from the loom that held my embarassing cloth. Turning sideways to avoid all obstacles, I made it into the corridor without breaking anything, and then walked briskly out the front entrance of the palace.

A gust of salty sea air hit my lungs as soon as I stepped outside. The wind was strong that day, but I did not mind. Maybe it was only because I had been shut up inside, but the sky looked brighter, the sea more inviting. I took a deep breath, enjoying what I knew could only be a few minutes' rest.

My stiff legs were aching to be used, so I started to stroll. One walk around the palace grounds, and then I would return to my torturous task. I stayed close to the palace, trying to stay in what few shadows there were. I did not want to be caught by Hecuba, who might treat my idleness as an insult to the gods. I glanced up at the sky, and decided to apologize just in case I had offended the immortal ones.

"Forgive me, Phoebus Apollo," I said under my breath. "But surely you cannot blame me for wanting to bask in your light."

The sun continued to shine merrily, so I figured the god had forgiven me. Halfway through my leisurely walk, I heard voices coming from around the corner, just behind the low parapet surrounding the largest courtyard. They were men's voices. I froze. Were they intruders? All the manservants were supposed to be at Poseidon's temple, painting the statue...

But as I listened closely to the voices, my fear left me. I peeked around the corner to confirm my suspicion. Sure enough, Hector andHelenus were standing in the middle of the courtyard. I nearly stepped forward to greet them, until I heard the anger in their voices. Dark expressions clouded both their faces; one more step and I would have stumbled on an argument.

"And you fear it!" Helenus' voice was loud, but it had not reached the point of shouting. "You can pretend you have no fears, but you are afraid of admitting-"

"This does not concern you, brother," Hector said, his icy tone meant to be a warning. His voice, combined with the burning glare he fixed his brother in, made him dangerous. ButHelenus would not give up.

"Oh, but it does concern me! I want to see you happy, and you're being an idiot! You cannot ignore fate!" Helenus said exasperatedly, and Hector crossed his arms at the insult. "You are thinking of this as a battle, Hector, but it is not one. You will find no glory here, no victory, no defeat!"

"You do not know my mind," Hector spat, his voice gaining volume as he shed his calm.

"It's obvious! You're being a coward!"Helenus said, frustration and fury exploding from his lips. Hector stomped forward, and I sucked in my breath, expecting him to hit him. He came within two feet of him before his head dropped, and he wisely focused his rage to the ground.

"This is my choice! If I choose to-to keep myself safe, it is my business!" he said gruffly, his words tumbling together. He looked up, eyes wild and curly hair askew. "I can take care of myself!"

"It is not yourself you care for anymore, and you know it," Helenus said quietly, looking up to meet Hector's eyes. I wondered if he meant to give his words that meaning. He turned and stalked out of the courtyard, letting himself into the palace through the side entry and leaving his brother fuming.

"And if this is no battle, why do you speak of surrender?" Hector shouted at the closing door. I flinched at his use of the word, for it was that same thing Cassandra wanted me to do. I watched as Hector slumped onto a bench, letting out an angry sigh. I wanted to rush forward and comfort him somehow, but there was no telling how angry he would be if he knew I was listening to his private disagreement. Besides, how was I to make him feel better? I did not know what they were talking about, only that my husband should never be accused of being a coward. I turned back the way I came, fleeing as quietly as I could to the safety of the weaving room, where my tangled threads awaited me.

After four hours of weaving, I let the maids free, as much to preserve my sanity as theirs. My eyes stung from staring at the loom, my fingers were stiff, my back aching. I could only imagine how my maids felt, having no rst. By the time I dismissed everyone, we had much of the cloth completed. A day or two more of weaving and sewing and it would be ready for Apollo's temple.

It was early in the afternoon and I had not eaten since I woke up, but I was too weary for food. I went to my chambers, sinking onto a low stool before realizing Hector was there, on the balcony outside. He did not look at the beautiful garden below. Instead, he stared at me.

I smiled in greeting. "Are you free for the afternoon?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, leaning comfortably on the wall as the wind toyed with his hair. Joining him on the balcony was tempting, but I didn't dare risk it. I was lucky just to have him home, and I wasn't going to spoil it by moving closer. Besides, I didn't know if he was still fuming over the argument with Paris. So I stayed where I was and kept the conversation light.

"How is the horse that was ill?" I asked, and I knew the news was good when he smiled slightly. I expected the beast to be dead, but with Hector trying to save him, he had lived.

"He is recovering," he said. "One of the stablehands is caring for him until he is well."

I searched for more casual things to say, but found nothing. Confronting him about the distance he created seemed like a bad idea.

"I didn't come home until late last night, and you were asleep in the chair," Hector said, bringing back that hazy memory. "I doubt you remember-"

And then the ground shook, interrupting him rudely.

The floor gave a sudden lurch, sending me sprawling as the chair clattered down and clipped my shoulder. As it shook again, my mind jolted to realization: Poseidon, the Earth Shaker, was angry. He was pounding his fist on the earth, sending mortals running. Soon buildings would crash down, crushing people under them. When I was much younger, we had an earthquake in Thebe. I was terrified then, and I was terrified now.

The ground rocked beneath me, a cradle of rage. There was no safe place to stand! In a flash, Hector was beside me, hauling me up by my arm. The walls emitted a groan, unable to withstand such movement. The roof would not hold if the shaking continued.

The fist of the god pushed the floor, and I felt myself falling. But Hector had other plans. He took one look at the roof and ran, dragging me with him. It amazed me how fast he could sprint, even with the ground moving upsettingly beneath his swift feet. I was not nearly as fast, but it didn't matter. I slipped and stumbled behind him, being pulled to safety. There is no doubt in my mind that if Hector had not been there to rush me to safety, I would have died. My heart was leaping so fast I thought it would pound through my chest. Steady ground was an evasive beast, and the walls moaned in agony. Twice the ground split beneath us, leaving small cracks that I feared would open and pull me in.

Hector had no fears. His only concern was for my safety. He had experienced many more earthquakes than I, and he knew we needed to get out of the building in case it collapsed.

It seemed like an eternity of violently shuddering ground and screaming maids, but it could only have been a few seconds before Hector kicked open the palace's side door. We ran out into a simple courtayrd, grassy with only one tree. The ground outside jolted just as much as the palace floor had. Hector pulled me away from the building, allowing me to collapse before crouching beside me. His face was close to mine as he spoke. "I must tend to my family and the horses," he explained. "I have to see if they're safe."

But I held onto his hand, my nails digging into his skin without my knowledge. He was my only anchor in the frenzied shaking, and I needed him. I knew it was childish and selfish, but I was paralyzed by fear. Somehow, he knew.

"What is it you want of me?" he asked, squeezing my hand. The ground thrust upward with such force that it uprooted the only tree in the yard. It fell with the chaotic sound of branches snapping. I feared I would be next to fall.

"I want you to tell me all is well, even if it isn't," I breathed, sounding and feeling slightly hysterical. I tore my eyes from the broken tree to look into Hector's face. The difficult decision was etched onto his features.

"Then all is well," he said, sitting down as he pulled my body onto his. I clutched his shoulders with my hands, trembling as much as the earth was. In the distance, the rumble of buildings falling nearly masked the sound of people screaming. I clung desperately to Hector as the shaking faded to trembling, then to nothing at all.

"We'll stay here. There may be more," he warned, his voice as soothing as the steady beat of his heart. My ear was pressed against his chest so I could hear his calm heartbeat and drown out my own. I braced myself; a minute later, the ground thrust upward again, Poseidon's final blow.

"It's over," Hector murmured. "You're safe." But he must have sensed my lingering fear, because he held me for a long time, until my heartbeat was as steady as his own. There was damage to inspect, wounds to tend to, gods to appease. None of it mattered.

That was the only time in our marriage that Hector was my hero, a hero only for me. He did not belong to his family, soldiers, or city, but completely to me. It sounds selfish, retelling it now, but I loved that feeling. He was mine that day, and I did not know it then, but I could not delay becoming his, too.

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Hope you liked! I'm off for a quick vacation before school starts, but I'll write more as soon as I get back. 


	19. Scars in the Shadows

A/N: Sorry this took a long time to get posted. I was having issues with it and the next chapter, but that one should be up sooner.

This chapter deals with the repercussions of the earthquake; and for those of you who have read the Iliad, there's a part in there about a weak section in the wall, near the fig tree. I wrote a section in here to explain that weakness. And something I forgot to say about the last chapter- the only thing I learned in geology that I found useful was about the Anatolian fault causing some pretty devastating earthquakes, and it was where Troy is believed to be. Also, the end of this chapter may be a bit confusing, mainly because I want Andromache to show confusion over that particular event. As always, any questions or concerns, feel free to email me!

Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, I like knowing what impression you get of each chapter. Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Warning: **This chapter contains some mild, not-so-graphic descriptions of wounds. It's minor compared to some of the battle wounds I'll do later on, but if injuries make you queasy you may want to read with caution.

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Chapter Nineteen: Scars in the Shadows 

The chaos of the earthquake sent all of Troy into a structured recovery, led by Priam and greatly aided by Hector. Within an hour after the tremors subsided, ten bulls had been sacrificed to Poseidon in a successful attempt to quell the god's rage. People everywhere surveyed the damage to the city, some uttering grateful prayers that they had suffered little, others weeping for the family they lost.

The damage to the citadel was minimal. The roof of the chambers Ilione once occupied had fallen in, along with part of a corridor. In Hector's palace, one wall of our bedchamber had sagged dramatically. One of Hecuba's maids was crushed and killed beneath some debris, and a stable-boy injured his leg when a mare broke out of her stall in panic. The horse was found near the Scaean Gate, and Hector had no trouble luring her home.

The greatest damage occurred in the lower parts of the city, especially where the poorer citizens lived. Their houses were not built as sturdily as the palace; many roofs and walls had collapsed in the earthquake. In the lower city streets, Poseidon had thrust upward with such force that the stones that paved trails angled upward and had fractured. Even a small section of the great wall of Troy had collapsed. This shocked me at first, but I reasoned that if Poseidon had helped construct these walls, he could destroy them.

As soon as all the damage was inspected, everyone set about fixing it- _everyone._ Weaving for Apollo's temple was quickly put aside as my maids and I ventured to the lower city to help the wounded. Servants of other temples offered prayers to Poseidon as well as their own gods. Every prince who was old enough to lift stones spent the rest of that afternoon helping to rebuild homes. Even children roamed the city with pots of water in their arms, offering drinks to the hardworking men.

I spent the first afternoon bandaging small cuts and applying salve to bruises sustained when buildings fell. It is strange now to look back on that time, when my healing abilities were so limited. When the war began, I quickly learned how to recognize and cure wounds from knives, arrows, swords, stones, and fists. The wounds I dressed from that earthquake were mild compared to what I later cared for. Healers from the temples looked after the people who had more serious injuries. A few had gotten their hands or feet caught under piles of debris, leaving their limbs bloody and mangled beyond repair. I remember one boy who was old enough to be a soldier, already reasonably skilled with a blade. His right hand and wrist were so battered that they had to be amputated. There were tears in his eyes when he learned he would not be able to fight when his arm was removed. I suppose he saw it as failing his family and city; but I thought his family might be secretly glad that their son would never experience the horrors of war.

I spent the day after the earthquake changing bandages and delivering food to the men working on repairs. Often I saw Hector- he was everywhere! He chose to help his people instead of repairing our own home, deciding that our repairs could wait. I never saw him rest that day. For part of the morning, he and Aeneas worked with some soldiers on repairing the roof of a merchant's home. I smiled at them as I passed, my arms unable to wave because they were carrying a basket of linens to the makeshift infirmary where the seriously injured lay. I was just in time to witness one of Hector's weaknesses: children.

The merchant's son tugged on Hector's tunic, waiting impatiently for him to acknowledge his presence. "I want to help," he said insistently. He was young enough that he did not know to call Hector 'my prince' or 'my lord,' and my husband smiled at the lack of formality. He crouched down to the child's level, and I paused, wondering how he would deal with the boy. After all, there was not much a boy of his size could do to help rebuild a roof.

"We could use someone strong," he said thoughtfully. He pointed to a pile of small stones, for sealing spaces between the bigger ones. "Could you hand those to the men over there?" He was speaking of the men who were standing on wooden ladders, trying to fit stones together on the upper wall.

The boy nodded excitedly, skipping to the rocks. He took them one at a time to the soldiers, telling them all the while about how much he adored Hector. "Whenever me and my friends play battle," he said fervently, "I'm always Hector, because he's the bravest!"

Hector heard the boy. Meeting my gaze, he grinned and shrugged helplessly as I resumed my walk. Though he would never admit to it, I know he was pleased that a child looked up to him.

I spent a good part of the morning changing bandages and trying to ignore the screams of those who had to have limbs amputated. The temple healers gave them as much un-watered wine as they could to dull the pain, but it wasn't very effective. I endured the screams of agony for as long as I could, but in those days I was unaccustomed to seeing or hearing people in pain. At the first gasp from the boy with the mangled hand, I excused myself and went to find some other way to help.

I ended up delivering food and water to the working men. It proved to be a more demanding task than expected. There were men in the city to be fed, as well as men outside the walls, digging graves for those who didn't survive the earthquake. There were many maids assigned to the same task I was, and all afternoon we climbed up to Priam's palace to receive baskets of food from his busy cooks, then trudged down to the lower city to distribute it. Our feet ached by the end of the day, but we all knew the men would be far wearier. They paused only to drink water and eat a few bites of whatever we brought them before they were toiling away again.

On my fifth round of delivering food, I stopped to see Hector. He was working with a large group of men at the collapsed section of the wall. The sun blazed unsympathetically above them. The only shade came from a tall fig tree near the wall, and the shadow it cast did not land on the broken segment the men were repairing. Sweat gleamed on their bare chests as they hauled stones to the battlements. I was on my way to bring more water to the men digging graves, but I took pity on these workers instead. I set down my heavy amphora of water and held out the food basket for whoever wanted some.

Seeing me, Hector hefted one more huge stone onto the wall and then took a break. "I was hoping to earn Lord Apollo's sympathy," he said as he came toward me, waiting his turn at the water jug. "But the sun is as hot as ever."

"At least you have the shade of the fig tree," I pointed out. "And you've made good progress already."

Hector dipped the ladle into the amphora of water, taking only one gulp to cool his throat. "We should be finished in a few more days," he speculated, handing the ladle to another worker. "I'll see you at supper," he said with a smile as he strode back to the wall and began hauling up more huge stones. Oh, he would be sore in the morning!

Hours later, as Apollo's chariot began its swift descent into the western sea, everyone retired to their homes for the night; those who did not have homes anymore slept in the streets. Priam's cooks provided a hearty meal, though it was a wonder they had any food left in their kitchens after cooking for the entire city. There was talk between the elder princes about how the repairs were going.

"Fixing the cracked streets may take a week," Deiphobus said, nibbling on a piece of dried meat. "We can't have carts or chariots on the roads, or their wheels will break."

"We can put more men on that task as soon as the wall is completed," Hector decided. "Until then, people will have to rely on their arms instead of carts to carry things to the vendors. Helenus, did you finish-"

"Hector, your hand!" Hecuba interrupted with a gasp, reaching across the table to snatch up his left hand. Her eyes showed concern as she began to inspect it, but Hector pulled it out of her grasp, placing it in his lap. Before he hid it, I caught a glimpse of two narrow lines of blood, stretching from the middle of his hand to his knuckles. A vine of guilt tightened around my stomach. _How did I miss that?_

"I caught it between two stones and yanked it away too quickly. It is nothing, Mother," he assured her. Hecuba looked as though she would have liked to examine the cuts further, but she sat down.

I tried to peek at his hand again, but it was too far under the table. Had he already had the wound when I brought him water? I should have paid closer attention. I should have applied oil and bandaged the cuts. It may not have prevented scarring, but at least it would have eased the sting.

As if he had read my mind, Priam spoke. "Just another scar; another mark of glory," he said dismissively, smiling at Hector.

But his son did not return the smile. His face took on a cold, stony expression that showed his obvious disagreement to that statement. The light-heartedness he retained even in the stress of rebuilding the city had left him, and in its place was resentment that he kept buried. I wondered at this sudden change in his mood, but I could not fathom what roused his bitterness. Priam's statement was common knowledge among warriors. Scars were something to be prided. They marked battles fought for a man's country, his narrow avoidance of death, and most importantly, the honor and glory of being a victorious soldier. My brothers often showed off their scars and told the stories that accompanied them. They were as much a part of a warrior as the sword and shield he carried.

Hector did not think of them that way, and this intrigued me. As the evening meal wore on, the desire to ask him about his views became stronger. He was a great warrior; surely his philosophy did not differ from the rest of the world? I asked him about it when we returned to our chambers.

"Why do you not agree that scars are glorious?" I questioned him. I was combing the tangles out of my hair, admiring the night sky. When I received no response, I turned to where he stood, looking at the crumpled wall of our chamber.

"They can be seen as marks of glory," he answered quietly, but from his tone I knew he did not truly believe his words. "But I cannot think of them without remembering why they are there."

_They are there because you escaped the battle with pain, not death, _I thought. It was something my brother Euklides used to say. He used to tell of the fight where he received a puncture wound on his chest, dangerously near to his heart. He killed the man who injured him with a blow to the head, and always considered himself lucky that he came out of the fight with only a wound, unlike his opponent. I did not think that was an appropriate story to tell Hector just then, though. I set down my comb and pulled the blanket on the bed up so I could slide under it, facing in Hector's direction.

He concealed himself in the shadows as he undressed, not caring whether I saw him or not. He hardly ever changed behind the screen anymore. I watched lazily as he peeled off his tunic. The torchlight flickered on the skin of his shoulders, but the shadows hid him well. The light did draw attention to one thing, though: a star-shaped scar from a puncture wound, on the back of his shoulder.

An idea began to form in my mind. I wanted to understand him. "Hector," I said, and my voice sounded harsh in the orange torchlight. I sat up in bed, my eyes never leaving him for a moment. "Come out of the shadows."

Silence. The garment dropped to the ground, but still he shied away from the light. Boldly, I rose from the bed and closed the distance between us. I almost expected cowardice to overtake me, but my mind did not scream at me to halt. Instead, my curiosity spurred me on.

Hector did not step back as the distance between us evaporated. His eyes glittered as they met my own. There was no confrontation, no adjusting the situation so he could control it. It was up to me to get what I desired, and for once, I knew exactly what I wanted.

The shadows hid his vulnerability. I wanted to see it.

I looked to the only scar that was currently visible, the one on his shoulder. I touched it with my finger, wondering what its tale was. Had it been caused by an arrow? A spear? What was Hector fighting for when he received it?

"An arrow from a bandit," he said, his voice softer than a whisper. I removed my hand. There was a thin white scar on his chest, half-hidden by shadow. I traced one cautious finger over its length.

"I killed him," he explained, a storm of grief hardening his tone. "He was only Helenus' age."

I did not speak, but ran my hands over a newly revealed scar on the base of his neck, slowly coaxing him out of the shadows as I did. "I didn't move fast enough," he said, voice laced with pain. With every scar I touched, I was bringing back the agony of the moment a weapon tore into his skin. I looked into his eyes, unsure if I had permission to do so. But the look in his eyes held much more than permission. His deep brown orbs contained grief, memories, and desperation. I had never understood him more fully. With nothing more than that look, he was asking me to expose him.

And so I did. I exposed his mistakes, his secrets, his pain, and his world, all through the map of scars that covered his body. Each had an explanation, but sometimes he did not offer one. Some had not yet healed, some were so light they were almost invisible, and some were so hideous I could hardly bring myself to touch them. As I traced the lines on his back, legs, torso, and biceps, I wondered how he could endure so much pain. As I drew him out of the shadows, one intense question surrounded us like an inescapable wildfire: when every scar shone in the torchlight, when he was bare in my gaze, would I accept him or veil him in illusions?

Finally I slipped his left hand out of the shadows, looking at the fresh wound. It might have been the only wound he received that was not attached to the memory of killing someone.

Then only my acceptance stood between us. I stood back to look at him, seeing past the well-used muscles, the trademark body of a warrior, to the scars that marred it.

A wave of shame flooded through me. _Who am I to see him like this?_ I thought. _I am not worthy._ My goal had been to understand him, and understand him I did-- in a way deeper than I ever imagined. Almost too deeply.

But on the same token, I knew he invited me to this comprehension. My silence certainly wasn't the response he expected.

My hand returned to the first scar, the pink star on the back of his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I said, not apologizing for my bold actions, but for all the agony he carried with him.

It seemed that was the right response, for he leaned forward and kissed me.

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I would _really_ like your feedback for this chapter—what did you think? Thanks for taking the time to read it! 


	20. Surrender

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long! These past few weeks have been busy and stressful, and as far as this story goes, life and my own lack of inspiration got in the way. I owe a huge thanks to everyone who waited for this and who helped me, so this chapter is dedicated to everyone who has read or had anything to do with Haunted By Bliss so far. I'm thankful for your support! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.

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Chapter Twenty: Surrender 

It took another two weeks to repair the majority of the ruined parts of Troy. My maidservants and I helped as much as we could, but eventually we weren't needed. Slowly, our regular tasks replaced our ventures into the city. By the end of the first week, I was back to weaving for Apollo's temple in the tiny weaving room, the lone silent figure in a flock of giggling maids.

Hector was still working in the lower parts of the city, so I did not see him as often as I would have liked. I found that I missed his company during the day. Something had changed between us, interrupting our pattern of casual friendship and individual ideas. I cannot fully explain it, for the changes were subtle. He spoke to me more openly and made no effort to hide his thoughts or personality—he _trusted_ me. He also embraced me more often, and I found it difficult to resist his affection. And we both smiled more.

When we were together, I was nearly giddy, and blissfully free from doubt. When I look back on those days, I see myself as being so young! I try to recall exactly how I felt, but it is difficult to imagine that sort of happiness now. I remember feeling lighter than I do now, more carefree and radiant. As I was falling in love, the world looked different to me than it does now. The sea was clearer, the sky larger, and Hector's smile was as bright as the sun.

But when I was alone with my thoughts, in that wretched weaving room, darker notions set in. My mind chided me constantly, chanting songs of independence and rebellion. I would reflect on the sweet kiss Hector gave me on the night I exposed him, and that dizzying feeling would be cut short by my own stubbornness. I loved my freedom, and I had lost so much already. I was convinced that all I had left was the freedom of my heart. Hector had claimed my body the night we wed; he owned me and had complete control over my life. I did not want to lose my last thread of freedom. I had made that promise to myself months before.

So why was distance suddenly so difficult to keep? Why did I look forward to Hector's warm embrace? Why did I find myself wondering what it would be like to live for his smile?

Girl that I was, I could not comprehend the power of fate. Oh, I tried to escape, but I know now that it was all futile. If I had never resisted…well, that does not matter anymore. I often try to pinpoint exactly which moment my destiny was sealed. Was it when Hector's name first echoed across the halls of Thebe? Was it when I first admitted to loving him, or was my doom decided long before I took my first breath? I suppose none of it is of any consequence now, but still I wonder.

I used my desire for freedom as my excuse for not loving my husband. And for the most part, I was able to convince myself that it was a valid reason. But a guilty part of me still whispered that I was being unfair to Hector by guarding myself so carefully. The frightened side of me shot down that guilt with six words: _He does not love me anyway._

Hector was oblivious to my inner battles, for he had already come to terms with his feelings. I learned later that he completely gave in to his emotions on the night I traced his scars, though he said I intrigued him long before that. I should have expected it. It was so typical of Hector to leap into the unknown based on his instincts, with no seconds thoughts or doubts. He was far braver than I.

But as to his feelings then, I was left in the dark. I brooded over our complicated relationship while I wove one afternoon, and without my being fully aware of it, frustration boiled up within me until I felt ready to scream. I set down my shuttle and peered out of the narrow window. A dull gray blanket of clouds masked the twilight sky. _Rain. _A delicious tingle raced down my spine. "Enough work for today," I said to the maids, my voicehoarse after hours of neglect. I left them tying off their weaving as I crept out the door. The halls were empty, thankfully. I fled down the narrow flight of stair to the door to the private garden, moving quickly so my commonsense couldn't catch up with me.

Pushing the door open, I took a single step outside. I could hear heavy raindrops sliding from the bleak sky, and a flash of lightning broke through the haze. Mindlessly, I took a few more steps, lifting my palms up to my waist, so they were facing the sky. The light rain greeted me eagerly. Cold drops stung my skin where they landed, but I did not retreat back into the warm, dry corridor.

Absently I wondered where Hector was. Would he still be working, even though it was raining? I decided he would not. Knowing him, he would dismiss his workers a bit early for the night. But he would not return to the palace for a while, as it was a fairly long walk from the lower parts of the city to the citadel. I let my arms drift back to my sides. It wasn't raining very hard, but in a few minutes it would be. I remembered how kind Hector had been during the earthquake, and my attempts at becoming a better wife. With that in mind, I backed up into the palace. A good wife would go back inside to wait patiently for her husband, and ignore the rain. A good wife certainly wouldn't go into the garden to experience the storm.

But as the rain started coming down harder, my feet moved on their own, and that is exactly where I found myself. I had no choice but to give in to my weakness. I loved rain, and I still do. I can't explain why it has such power over me, but I have loved it since I was a small child. In Thebe, when there was a storm, my mother would always try to entice me with exciting tales, or she would offer to let me try on her jewels. Her bait never kept me indoors. I always managed to escape. On lucky occasions I was able to run around in the fields, catching raindrops in my hands; if not, I would simply hide in a little-used corner of a courtyard and let the rain slide down my arms. I could never really put it into words, but I know my reason for loving rainstorms has something to do with the wild power they contain.

The private garden was empty, as I knew it would be. Not even the gardeners dared approach it in that weather. Slipping my sandals off, I left them at the door. I avoided the white stone path through the garden, choosing instead to tread on the wet grass. As I felt the tug of my gown's train behind me, I realized I was going to ruin the dress. It was a pretty, light blue color, and the grass was bound to stain it so thoroughly that it would be beyond repair. I acknowledged the loss, but couldn't bring myself to care. The rain was soaking into my hair, rolling down my face, easing away my worries, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Even the homesickness I tried to hide began to ebb away as I realized the same sweet rain might fall on Thebe later.

Under the impression that I was alone, I lifted my face to the sky, raising my arms above my head. Drops of water pounded my skin, moving in an incomprehensible rhythm, a song that only the gods understood. I _almost _understood it, almost began singing along. I spun around once, then ran lightly with no destination, my vision blurred by the shining water trails. My gown prevented me from sprinting, but I did not mind. Lightning and distant thunder joined in the sporadic song, and I moved in the middle of it all, enjoying the subtle chaos. I found myself facing my bedroom's balcony when the next flash of lightning came.

There was Hector, leaning on the balcony's wall with his hands clasped in front of him. His dark, intense eyes were watching something intently. Watching me.

I stopped where I was, at once embarrassed. _Fool! _I scolded myself silently. _What will he think of me now?_ He did not seem angry, finding me outside in the middle of a storm. More likely, he thought me crazed. I lowered my arms, lacing my fingers behind my back. The rain had soaked through my clothing and left my hair in sloppy tendrils. I had never felt more naked.

"Don't stop," Hector's voice reached me from above. He sounded perfectly calm, with only a trace of warm amusement in his voice. "I didn't mean to interrupt." But I did not move. I was convinced that I had just showed him how weak and childish I was, when I had spent months trying to give him a better impression. "Don't stop," he repeated, more softly. "You are beautiful in the rain."

His words were curious, and I felt my face flush as I heard them. I did not dance around again, though. I sank to my knees and just sat there, as the rain cleansed my body and Hector's words cleared my doubts. The rain was a vital part of my freedom; he saw that. And he did nothing to take it away. On an impulse, I started to call out to him.

"Will you…" I trailed off as I looked up at the balcony. Hector was gone. I was going to ask him if he wanted to come down to sit with me in the rain, but without him standing there, the idea seemed to absurd that I swallowed my request. Besides, I had never wanted to experience a storm with anyone else before.

Why did I want to share one with him?

That was the thought that lingered long into the night. When I gathered up my courage and went inside, Hector was waiting with a long blanket to wrap me in. He kissed the raindrops from my brow and treated me to one of his bright smiles. And every gesture of kindness left me numb with a realization I wasn't brave enough to face. Not until later that night, when we were both in bed, and Hector was sleeping beside me.

I lay on my side facing him, breathing carefully so I would not wake him. Eyes wide, I studied him as I had done so many times before. In contrast to his usual wide sleeping stance, both arms were tucked in close to his sides, with the one nearest to me laying over his stomach. His legs were slightly curled under the bed-sheets. His mouth was open slightly, somehow softening the lines of his sharp jaw and nose. He looked child-like. All his power ebbed out of him as he slept, leaving only a vulnerable innocence that I had never expected to see in a warrior.

I rolled closer, painstakingly slow, the desire to be near him overcoming all my promises to myself. _I love him, _I realized, and simply thinking those words send waves of warmth through me. I knew that I had loved him for months, but admitting it to myself made it unavoidably real. I pressed my cheek on his shoulder, still looking at his face. _He does not know I love him. I am still free._

His breathing remained slow and steady, and I grew bolder. My hand placed itself on Hector's forearm, my fingers so light they would hardly be felt; or so I thought.

His eyes snapped open, instantly locking on my own and catching me in a moment of truth. My breathing stopped. If I had been asleep as I reached for him, it would have been acceptable—I could have said I was dreaming. But I was wide-awake, and he knew it. A good explanation had to be delivered, and fast.

I could only think of one.

"I love you," I whispered, the words I never wanted to say to him hanging dangerously between us. I couldn't believe my own courage. Three words, and I gave away the rest of my freedom, my control, my independence, my life. Nauseating fear rose up in my stomach, for I did not think my words would be returned. I wanted to take a deep breath, but my lungs were paralyzed. I could only lie there, still resting on his shoulder, expecting to be crushed.

Hector's other arm snaked around my body; I _was _being crushed, pulled against him. "And I love you, Andromache," he murmured. Tears pricked the corner of my eyes, but they were tears of joy. _He loves me_. I should not have been so shocked. I buried my head under his chin as happiness and amazement exploded inside me. _I love him!_

We did not sleep until the sky lightened to welcome the dawn, as we were both absorbed in our new discovery. The complexity of our situation had dissolved—it was all so simple! I wanted to cry, to apologize for being so stubborn, and to announce my love to the world. But instead we found ourselves laughing, kissing, and touching.

That was enough, and it always would be enough.

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I only changed this chapter slightly, even though I was going to completely re-write it. Hope you enjoyed! No guarantees on when the next chapter will be up...wow, I still have 19 years to cover in this. All I can promise is I won't abandon it any time soon, so stay tuned for the next chapter! 


	21. The Lost Son

A/N: Just a few things to get out of the way…sorry it'll be a semi-long author's note, but I've been gone forever. First off, sorry this took so long to post. I left you hanging, and there's no excuse for that. I'm sorry. However, I have tried to improve the story. If you go back through the chapters, some things have changed, the most important being that Paris now has not yet entered the story. That was the only way I could think of to continue this.

Second, this story was a finalist in the Tragic Bliss Awards…and well, it won. Haunted By Bliss won Best Ongoing and Best Overall, which completely shocked me. Thanks to everyone who supported it!

Third, as dorky as this sounds, I found a theme song for chapters 1-20. I know that sounds pathetic, and I wasn't looking for one, but once I heard the song it really clicked. If you'd like to hear it, email me or message me and I'll try to send the file.

Also, the dedications. This one's dedicated to every reader who encouraged me to continue, and there were many of you. Thank you.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I hope I can update quicker!

Spider

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Chapter Twenty-One: The Lost Son 

Immediately after Hector and I confessed our love, there followed a period of beautiful simplicity. Looking back on it now, I see it was probably the most uncomplicated time of my life. There was no war or grief to cut into my happiness; no blood, anger, or jealousy. For a while, the world was crisp and fresh, as if I were gazing at it from a new viewpoint. Even dull tasks could leave me grinning, as thoughts of my husband lingered in my mind. Every problem, no matter how demanding, was easily solved with a mere smile from Hector.

I loved being in love. It sounds naïve to say it, but I did. I learned quickly that love is a powerful force, and I was blessed to experience it. I made several offerings at the temple of Aphrodite, both to thank her for her gift and to apologize for being so stubborn. I never heard another word from her after she visited me in a dream, months before, but I felt somehow that she forgave me. After all, I was only a mortal, prone to mistakes, and I had succumbed to her wishes in the end.

This period of bliss was interrupted by a man I have come to blame a number of misfortunes on. Yet at the time, I welcomed him into my life.

As winter slowly relinquished its hold on Troy, Priam announced the city's annual funeral games would be held within the month. I was puzzled by this—who held funeral games every year? I asked Hector about this when I got the chance, and as with all other aspects of the city that were strange to me, he was eager to explain.

"When I was scarcely three years old, my mother was expecting another child," he began. We were lounging in one of Priam's larger courtyards, picking at a platter of fruit. I loved lazy afternoons like that one. "The night before she gave birth, she had a dream that instead of a child, she would bring a flaming torch into the world, and in turn, that torch would burn the city of Troy. My father asked the priest Aesacus to interpret the dream, and he took it as an ill omen. He advised my father to kill the child as soon as it was born, as it would surely bring destruction to Troy."

I found myself hoping that Priam had refused the omen, but of course I already knew how the story ended.

"I was much too young to remember much of this, of course, and I do not remember seeing my brother. My mother protested fiercely, but my father would never risk his kingdom for a single child. It was difficult for him, but he gave the boy to a servant to kill," Hector finished. I was torn. Priam had done what was best for his country, it was true. But I could not fathom ordering the death of one's own child, no matter the consequences.

"I've always wondered if Aesacus read the dream wrong," Hector admitted softly, slowly running his hand back and forth along the length of my arm. "It seems clear enough, and I should not doubt a priest, but still I wonder. He was only a baby."

"Hector!" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts. Deiphobus had entered the courtyard, striding purposefully to where Hector and I rested. "Would you care to practice for the games?" he asked, smiling in a way that struck me as sly. "We can wrestle, spar, or try a footrace. I'm eager for you to see how my skills have improved, brother!"

Hector rose to accept his challenge, but I could sense the competition wasn't nearly as important to him as it was to his younger brother. It always made me uncomfortable to be around Deiphobus when he was with Hector. He strove to win his attention and emulate him, yet he only wanted to be better and more powerful.

Hector beat him soundly at wrestling and sparring, but Deiphobus won the footrace by a hair. Refusing Hector's praise, he swore to do better at the games themselves, and panting, he stalked out of the courtyard.

"Will you let him win at the games?" I asked when he was gone. I knew Deiphobus had no chance at defeating my husband. His tall, muscled body was perfect for most athletic games. His strength and power could easily defeat a lesser opponent.

"No. I simply won't enter the games Deiphobus desperately wants to win," he answered. "Competition is more important to him."

Hector was true to his word. The day of the funeral games, he entered only one competition, choosing instead to stay at my side during the elaborate festival. The day started with the sacrifice of a majestic bull. The servants of the king had selected it from a herd in the mountains, painted his hooves gold, and decorated it with garlands. A priest of Zeus slit its throat and said a prayer for the dead prince. Priam and Hecuba looked on solemnly, and then Priam cleared his throat and lifted the descending veil of gloom.

"Let the games begin!" he called, and the crowd rejoiced. Many men stripped to their loincloths and formed a ring in the soft dirt arena normally used for training. Deiphobus leapt to the center, forming fists as he did. "Who will challenge me?" he asked, an arrogant smile fixed on his lips. He pointed at Aeneas, who laughed and shook his head. "I will call the match for you, cousin," he offered. "But today I have no wish for a broken nose and a black eye!"

Others did, though. Deiphobus sparred with a burly shipwright, then a tall soldier and a muscular manservant. I was surprised to see that he actually was very talented. Although he did not have immense strength in his arms or legs, he was large, and he used that to his advantage. His strikes had his weight behind them, and he was swift on his feet. He used feints often and effectively. One by one, each opponent left the ring, moaning about their various injuries.

"Anyone else?" Deiphobus called, grinning madly. From three sparring matches, he had only received a split lip and a bloody nose. He gestured to Hector, Helenus, and even young Cebriones, but they all refused. His smile widened in anticipation of the laurel crown given to winners, but suddenly one more challenger stepped out of the crowd.

Immediately, I pitied the man. He was one of Priam's servants in the hills, one who had raised the sacrificial bull. He looked to be slightly older than Deiphobus, but not nearly as strong. His tall, lean frame contrasted sharply with Deiphobus' burliness. He wore a simple herdsman's tunic and an expression of nervousness. When he turned to face Aeneas, I was startled to see that he was incredibly handsome. He had none of Hector's rugged charm, but his clean-shaven face had a quality of innocence. His dark locks were dulled by dust, and his soft blue eyes shone out from over his high cheekbones. They held a determined gleam.

"I will try," he said bravely, and Aeneas nodded. Deiphobus, chuckling, took his stance.

It was then that a chilling wail sliced through the air. "No!" Cassandra screamed. There was no need for her to push through the crowd. The people recoiled from her. Her eyes were wild as she pointed a shaking finger at the newcomer. "Not you! Leave us! Leave us to our peace!"

"Sister, don't be upset. Let me escort you to your chambers," Helenus said, taking her firmly by the hand. Cassandra still stared at the newcomer, her gaze unsettling. Then her beautiful face crumpled and she broke into heartbreaking sobs.

"Was our sacrifice not enough?" she cried as Helenus pulled her away. "Are two lives worth thousands?"

I was shaken by her appearance. Hector squeezed my hand, and the people carried on as though nothing had happened. Deiphobus took a fighting stance once again, and the newcomer did the same.

"A shame that pretty face will be marred," an observing maidservant sighed. Deiphobus eased into a routine, circling and feinting in an effort to scare the man. The herdsman circled warily, his body tense, waiting. When Deiphobus finally took a swing, the newcomer ducked the blow.

A murmur of approval coursed through the crowd. Clearly the man had become the crowd's favorite. Deiphobus must have realized this too, for his arrogant expression faded to one of annoyance. He stepped closer and jabbed at his opponent's ribs, but the man twirled out of the way, avoiding the main force of the blow.

"Impressive," Hector whispered, his piercing stare focused on the match. The stranger had even won the approval of the eldest prince!

Deiphobus moved quickly now, feinting left and right. He swung at his opponent's jaw, but the man was too swift for him. He parried the blow, knocking Deiphobus off-balance, and hit him hard in the stomach, doubling him over. He punched him once more, catching him in the temples. Deiphobus straightened, absolutely furious. His next attacks were forceful blows that would have sent larger men sprawling, but the herdsman danced away from them all. Finally he ducked under the prince's arm and caught him on the ear with a blow that knocked him flat. Aeneas had to shout over the cheering crowd.

"The victory belongs to the herdsman!" he announced, and the man offered his hand to Deiphobus. Instead of accepting it to pull himself up, he spat upon it and stalked off.

The chariot race was next, and the herdsman did not compete, presumably because he had no chariot. He looked on with the rest of the Trojans crowded around the wall instead. Hector was competing, as well as Aeneas. The two jested as they tethered their horses to the chariots, and it warmed my heart to see that their friendship had not been damaged by their previous misunderstanding. Hector had chosen Lampos to pull his chariot, as well as a feisty mare. Before the race began, he scanned the walls until he caught my eye. He smiled and waved at me, and I blushed as people chuckled. Then they were off, stirring up a storm of dust that trailed them as they circled the walls, the wheels creaking and the horses' hooves pounding erratically.

To nobody's surprise, Hector was the victor of the race. I cheered loudly with the rest of the Trojans. Aeneas jumped off his chariot to embrace his friend, and Hector's bashful smile made me want to push Aeneas aside and embrace him myself. I raced from the walls to the gate to meet him, and I did just that.

"If your lovely wife reacts like that every time you win, perhaps you should enter the footrace as well," Aeneas joked as I threw my arms around Hector's neck. Laughing, Hector kissed my cheek.

"Another competition is well worth it," he agreed, setting me down lightly. "Will you race as well, Aeneas?"

"Not this time, friend. I must repair my wounded pride," he said happily. Already, two maidens were flattering and consoling him. It was times like that when I was convinced he truly was the son of Aphrodite, for the idea of love seemed to radiate from him.

Fourteen men lined up to participate in the footrace, and among them were Hector, the herdsman, and fleet-footed Helenus. Most of the men chatted and joked with each other, but not the herdsman. He stretched his limbs and breathed deeply, utterly focused on the task ahead. To all the Trojan competitors, save for Deiphobus, the games were all in fun. But for his man, they were something more. He seemed desperate to prove himself.

_Perhaps he seeks the attention of a noble maiden, _I mused. I had no more time to wonder. A horn was blown, signaling the start of the race.

Within seconds, Hector, Helenus, and the stranger had pushed ahead of the other men. Helenus was in the lead first, but his older brother quickly overtook him. Hector's lead was met with loud applause from the audience—even before his brave acts in the war, he was the people's favorite. The stranger, though still ahead of the majority of runners, lagged behind. Desperation was etched onto his features, and with obvious effort, he increased his speed. Panting heavily, he overtook Helenus. As they neared the finish, he increased his effort yet again. Steps before the finish line, he raced ahead of Hector.

Certainly no one had expected that. The applause faded to incredulous mutterings as the runners stopped, placing their hands on their knees and leaning over, trying to regain their breath. I wove through the crowd, trying to reach my husband. Still panting, Hector reached over to clap the stranger's back.

"Well done, friend," he congratulated him, and his smile was genuine. "A well-deserved victory!"

With that, the applause resumed, and the man allowed himself an amazed smile. He looked at Hector with a respectful adoration in his eyes, thanking him profusely for his praise.

I do not think it was the fact that the young man had won yet another race, so much as the sudden friendliness between he and Hector that angered Deiphobus. He stepped between the two, glaring at the stranger. "Perhaps you would like to try your luck at the archery competition," he growled. The man backed up a step, but kept his clear blue eyes on the angry prince.

"I will try," he said again. Deiphobus sneered as the man started toward the targets.

"Do not begrudge him his victory because you are sore over your loss, brother," Hector chastised. "You cannot be best at everything."

Deiphobus continued to scowl, but his brother's disappointment had obviously hurt him. "Will you compete?" he asked finally, and Hector shook his head.

"No. Best of luck to you, though," he answered. As Deiphobus walked away, he came to where I stood. "Hopefully my dear brother will win this game," he stated wryly. "Otherwise, we'll have to deal with his childish temper until the next festival."

There were surprisingly few men in the competition. Out of all the kingdom's archers, only five had decided to compete, including the herdsman and Deiphobus. When I questioned Hector about this, he tilted his head toward a large table, containing half a dozen large amphorae of wine. Pretty serving maidens filled goblets, and many men were already calling for more. Evidently the men had tired of competition and had turned to the pursuit of women and wine instead.

Deiphobus, however, was still intent on victory. He eyed his target intensely, and when the start of the game was announced, he took his time knocking an arrow and aiming it. His care paid off, for his arrow his very near to the center. His smile faded, however, as he looked at the herdsman's target.

His arrow had struck the target exactly in the center.

One man's arrow had not made it into the inner circle, so he was eliminated. Deiphobus and the herdsman both took deep breaths and aimed their second arrows.

Both hit the centers of the targets. The herdsman's had hit next to his first arrow, leaving no space between the two. The two other men were eliminated, leaving only Deiphobus and his foe. The only way he could win was if the herdsman's next shot went wild.

But the gods did not smile on sullen Deiphobus that day. The herdsman's final arrow hit as closely as the other two. The crowd screamed their approval as the man dropped to his knees, clearly thanking the gods. But Deiphobus roared in anger, drawing his dagger and advancing toward the unsuspecting stranger.

Instantly Hector left my side and planted himself in front of Deiphobus. When his brother tried to get around him, he pushed him back.

"Let me kill the insolent bastard!" Deiphobus snarled. But his fury was no match for Hector's cold gaze.

"No," he said firmly. "The man won the games, fairly and honorably. Surely the people expect to see the loser, _their prince, _act graciously." He waited until his fuming brother shoved his dagger back into his sheath, and then he turned to the wide-eyed winner.

"Congratulations, friend," he said warmly. Helping the man to his feet, he led him to the outdoor thrones where Priam and Hecuba waited, laurel crowns in hand.

Priam placed a wreath on Hector's head first, kissing his son's brow. Hector bowed indulgently as the crowd shouted his praise. Then he made his way back to where Aeneas and I stood, draping an arm around my waist. "I think Lampos deserves this instead," he told me, pointing to the crown, which sat crookedly on his unruly curls.

"He might enjoy it more," I agreed. "He would eat it."

We watched as the young herdsman knelt nervously in front of Priam, who seemed greatly impressed by his talents. "It is rare that a man wins three games in a single day," he complimented, setting all three wreaths atop his head. "Your father will be proud."

"I hope he will, my lord," the man agreed quietly. "But it is not merely the prize of these crowns I wish to claim today."

"Oh? And what is this prize you desire?" Priam asked amusedly. The man rose to his feet, staring at the king and queen before speaking again.

"I wish to be acknowledged and reclaimed by my family," he said bravely. His words confused me, and I saw that puzzlement reflected on everyone's faces, save Hecuba's. Her face was frozen in shock.

"I understand these funeral games are for the son you lost, nineteen years ago," he continued. "I am that son."

A wave of shock and disbelief coursed through us all. The stranger seemed uncomfortable, but he stood his ground. "By the gods," Hector swore. Aeneas shook his head a few times, unable to keep his eyes off the man.

"You cannot be my son," Priam said shakily, rising to his feet. "He is dead. I gave him to a guard to kill on the night of his birth."

"And that guard gave him to my surrogate father, the herdsman Agelaus," the man stated. "Agelaus left me on the hills of Mount Ida, exposing me to the elements. When he came back to find my body, he saw the tracks of a bear and assumed it had carried me off. But the bear did not kill me. She suckled me, and Agelaus took it as a sign from the gods that I should live. His wife named me Paris, after the wallet he carried me home in, and gave me the surname Alexandros." Paris took a deep breath, looking at Priam's pale face. "I only discovered this recently, or I would have returned to you sooner. Agelaus can verify the tale if need be, though he fears your anger at his disobedience."

When his tale was over, he simply stood there, hope in his eyes. Priam lowered himself slowly to the throne, and I found myself holding my breath. I looked between Paris, Hector, Deiphobus, and Helenus, trying to see if Paris resembled the men he claimed were his brothers. There was no denying the resemblance. He had Hector's strong cheekbones, Deiphobus' commanding nose, and Helenus' soft chin. I looked back to Priam and I was convinced that the man did not lie. He even had his father's eyes.

Hecuba rose suddenly, standing directly in front of Paris. She reached both hands up to cup his face. Tears rose to her dark eyes as she peered into his face. "Do you speak the truth?" she asked, her voice shrill. Her withered hands trembled on his flawless skin. "Are you my son?"

To which Paris softly responded, "I am."

Tears streaked down the queen's face, and Paris gently wiped them away. Priam rose again, unsteadily. "The gods have seen it fit to send me back the son they took from me," he said, gazing at Paris. "We are blessed to receive such a gift."

Still the crowd was not sure. There was uncertainty among the Trojans, even as Priam and Hecuba embraced their long-lost son. I could understand their hesitation. A simple herdsman had come to Troy, bested the people's revered princes, and now was numbered among them. I stole a glance at Deiphobus. He was fuming.

A light tug on my hand brought my attention back to Hector. "We must greet him," he whispered, pulling me forward. Though all his other siblings were awkwardly staying away, I knew he was right. He was their brother, and he deserved to be part of the family.

Paris looked bewildered as Hector strode up to him, with me in tow. He smiled dazedly as he laid a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome home, my brother," Hector said affectionately, and embraced him as if they had known each other all their lives. I heard a furious muttering and looked back at Deiphobus. Never had I seen him so furious. Rage had twisted his features into a mask of pure hatred, directed at his new brother.

"And this is my wife, Princess Andromache," Hector announced, and I turned back to embrace Paris myself. There were tears of gratitude in his beautiful eyes as his other siblings gathered around to welcome him, following Hector's example. His face held that same joyous expression all through the greetings, and I was moved by his happiness. No one seemed to care about the prophecies concerning him anymore. We were fools.

And so Paris came home, carrying with him a spark of the fire that destroyed glorious Troy.

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There we go. This story is officially in motion again. Thanks for reading, and there WILL be more soon! Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated. 


	22. Accepting Paris

A/N: Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I really appreciate the feedback, especially as I'm trying to bring the major events of the Trojan War into this. Thanks so much!

This chapter involves the Fates, or Moirae. In mythology, they basically controlled the lives of mortals, and held more power than the gods themselves. Clotho spun the thread of each mortal's life, Lachesis measured the length of the life, and Atropos cut it when it was time for their deaths. There is much more information about the Fates, but that's all you'll need to know for this chapter.

On with the show!

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Chapter Twenty-Two: Accepting Paris

I was surprised at the way the Trojan royal family reacted to the return of Paris. Based on my own experience with the family, I thought they would be eager to make him comfortable and welcome him, unconditionally, as one of their own. However, there were mixed reactions to the handsome prince. Priam and Hecuba were overjoyed to have their son back, but few of Paris' siblings and cousins shared their happiness.

Deiphobus was the most hostile by far. Most siblings were merely uncomfortable or wary of their new sibling, but they overcame their qualms in time. Deiphobus nursed a blazing hatred for Paris. In a way, I could understand his frustrations. Paris' return meant that Deiphobus was no longer the second eldest. If Hector was unavailable, for a council or royal duty, Paris would be called upon instead. Deiphobus lost much of his importance. I believe that he was even more upset by the fact that Paris and Hector bonded immediately. Paris admired and respected Hector, and spent much of his time at his older brother's side. Hector told me he found Paris' light, humorous personality refreshing. I was amazed at how quickly they became close friends. Within a month of Paris' arrival, he and Hector acted as if they had not been robbed nineteen years together.

Though not nearly as hateful as Deiphobus, Cassandra did not welcome her new brother either. For nearly a week after her outburst, she refused to leave her chambers. Seeing her so upset left me worried, but I was unable to speak to her. She would not see any visitors, including Hector and I. Finally, Hector coaxed his baby brother's nurse into letting him watch the boy for half an hour. I accompanied both he and Troilius to Cassandra's chambers one afternoon, hoping her beloved baby brother would be enough to lure her out of her isolation.

I waited with my husband outside Cassandra's chambers, gently bouncing Troilius in my arms. The child was able to walk, albeit unsteadily, and he was working on being able to speak. "Heh," he proclaimed, pointing at Hector, who rapped loudly on his sister's door before smiling broadly at Troilius.

"Just don't call me 'Hecky,' little one," he told him, ruffling his soft curls. "Polydorus called me that, and the soldiers found it highly amusing."

A tired-looking servant opened the door, standing straighter when she saw Hector. "Princess Cassandra does not wish to see anyone, my lord and lady," she said, sounding mildly irritated. I wondered how many times she had had to relate that message in the past few days.

"Tell her we have brought baby Troilius to see her," Hector said confidently. The maid sighed, but dutifully returned to the room, closing the door behind her. It reopened less than a minute later, and she ushered us inside.

Cassandra was in her bedchamber, but the room was so dark that I could not immediately make out her form. "Let me see him," her haunted voice requested, coming from the corner. Troilius wiggled impatiently, and I set him down, holding both his hands in mine to lead him toward her voice.

"Have you been pretending to live in a cave?" Hector teased, making his way to the windows. He yanked the heavy winter shutters open, allowing Apollo's brilliant light to stream in. "Spring is here, sister. Have the servants put up curtains for summer."

"I did not want to see outside," Cassandra defended herself. "I dreamed of flames and suffocating smoke." Oh, she looked terrible. Her normally bright hair hung in limp, dull strands. She wore an un-dyed gown that was far too large for her slight frame. Her eyes were dark and wild, with kohl smeared messily around them.

Troilius was not frightened by her appearance. He squealed happily as she scooped him onto her lap, covering his face with kisses. "I did not know you could walk yet, darling," she cooed, tickling his knees. "When I saw you last, you were still crawling!"

"I will try to bring him to see you more often," Hector promised, just as I was about to swear the same thing. "His nurse is old and cranky, and I am certain I can convince her she deserves more time to herself."

"Mother would be angry if she discovered our visits," Cassandra said sadly. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at her baby brother. "But after all, it was only a vision I saw on the night of his birth. An omen, one might say. And omens can be neglected, so long as the person it concerns is determined enough to win games."

Hector sighed but said nothing. I decided to try. "Is it not possible for the gods to change their minds?" I asked. "After all, Paris was not killed on the mountainside. Perhaps the gods decided he would not be Ilium's bane."

"The gods may change their minds, but the Fates do not," Cassandra answered. "I understand why our family accepts Paris—after all, he is of our blood. Maybe they will listen to me when his actions start to spill our blood."

Troilius looked into her face and smiled proudly, clasping his pudgy hands together. "Cass," he pronounced confidently, and was quickly rewarded with a hug from Cassandra. "Cass Cass Cass."

"Very good, little one!" she exclaimed. "Apollo truly has blessed us."

How could she forget her horrifying words so quickly? She had spoken of Paris causing bloodshed among the royal family. I looked at Hector, his strong features illuminated by sunlight, and chills raced down my spine. Would his newfound brother bring him harm?

"We will have to return him to his nurse soon," he commented to his sister, oblivious to my frightening thoughts. "Stay in the shadows if you wish, but I hope you'll give us the pleasure of making an occasional appearance."

"I'm not eager…" she said, but she obviously wanted to repay his kindness. "I will try."

"Thank you," Hector said pleasantly, bending to kiss her lightly on the brow. "Will you carry him, Andromache?"

I moved to take Troilius from Cassandra, and she reluctantly placed him in my arms. "We'll bring him for another visit soon," I whispered, receiving a look of gratitude in return. After we delivered Troilius to the nursery and returned to our palace, I could not help but stare at my husband, searching for some reaction to Cassandra's words.

Finally he caught me. The expression on my face must have conveyed exactly what I was thinking, for he took my hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Omens are not always interpreted correctly, and prophecies do not always come to pass," he murmured into my hair.

"She said the Fates will not change their minds," I reminded him. He kissed my lips softly and I began to feel better. Hector had a knack for saying exactly the right things, and I waited for him to tell me that a man could go against fate, and he would do that if need be.

"That is a different matter," he said, his voice low and soft. "Our fates are decided long before we enter this world, and there is nothing we can do to change them. It is foolish to worry or try to alter them."

I was speechless. I had been so sure he would be ready to take on the Fates themselves! I quickly reclaimed my voice and used it to begin protesting. "That isn't true," I proclaimed. "There are men who have cheated death—men who have gone to the Underworld _while they were living_ to bring back the ones they loved! Orpheus ventured to Hades to reclaim his bride's life!"

"And his rescue attempt failed, for Eurydice looked back and was lost to Hades forever," Hector argued gently. "Besides, it was Orpheus' destiny to visit Hades, though he was alive. It won him fame."

I was rapidly becoming upset. "So if Atropos were to cut your life-thread long before your time, you would accept it as fate?" I asked, trying to appear calm. I reminded myself that we were merely having a discussion, and Hector was not in any danger yet.

"The Fates do not make mistakes, love. My life thread is only meant to be as long as Lachesis decides, and Atropos will cut it when it is time," he stated. "Andromache, why do you worry? We're speaking of an event that, the gods willing, will not take place for many years to come."

"I know," I admitted, lowering my eyes to the floor to avoid looking into his piercing orbs. "But the idea of you being powerless and—and dead makes me uneasy."

He tilted my chin up, and reluctantly I met his gaze. "Again, it's an event that will not occur for many years. We'll see how quickly you change your mind when I am old and unstable. Every time you have to help me off my throne, and every time you have to listen to my stories of the glorious old days, you'll pray for Atropos to use her dreaded shears at last!"

"Never," I promised, but I was laughing. "I imagine you'll look ridiculous with a long gray beard."

"I think I'll look quite handsome," he countered. And so I tried to put Cassandra's words from my mind, and succeeded. I did not think of the prophecy for over a year.

That night at the evening meal, Priam asked his newfound son to tell of his life on Mount Ida. Paris deflected the question, saying it wasn't interesting, but Priam persisted. Paris briefly recounted being raised as a herdsman and caring for the bulls and heifers.

"I tried not to become attached to the bulls, of course, since they were meant only for sacrifice," he said. "But some were so majestic that I could not help but admire them." At this, an ill-disguised snicker came from across the table. I did not need to look to know it was Deiphobus. Paris ignored him. "Allowing them to be taken for sacrifice was heartbreaking, but I would concentrate on raising another fine bull."

"Does something amuse you, Deiphobus?" Hecuba asked with obvious irritation, bestowing him with a glare. He had been leaning back in his chair, not bothering to stifle his mocking laughter. Now he sat straighter, setting his empty wine goblet on the table.

"Forgive me, Mother," he sneered, eyes on Paris. "I was only observing that now it is clear why our handsome new brother is still an unmarried man. No woman would want to compete for his love with his precious bulls!"

"Deiphobus," Hector warned sharply, and Paris blushed at the insult. However, he recovered quickly.

"I do have a wife," he announced, and seemed pleased by the startled expression Deiphobus wore. In fact, everyone seemed to wear one. "Her name is Oenone, and she is a nymph, daughter of the river-god's priest, Cebren. We've been married for a few months."

"Why did you not speak of this sooner, my son?" Priam asked, and here Paris looked uncomfortable. "Your wife is welcome to live here with you."

"I do not know if she would want to," Paris answered uneasily. "She loves the mountains."

"And she undoubtedly loves _you_. Take a few days to travel back to Mount Ida, Paris. Hector can accompany you. If your wife is willing, she is welcome to return with you."

"Thank you, Father," Paris said, but he was not enthusiastic. Hector rose to leave, and I followed him, with Paris trailing behind.

"I know, I should have mentioned her earlier," he admitted when we were out of Priam's halls. "She will want to come to Troy."

"Why didn't you bring her with you?" I asked cautiously. He was obviously ashamed, and I didn't want to press the matter.

"I did not know if I would be accepted. And when I was…" he paused, searching for the words. "It sounds terrible, but I don't know how she'll fit into this new life. I am no longer her herdsman."

"Do you love her?" Hector asked simply.

There was a brief hesitation before Paris responded, and his tone was defensive, as if to cover up that moment of silence. "Yes."

"Then the new arrangements will work out somehow," Hector reassured him, but I do not think Paris was convinced.

They readied their supplies that night, working by torchlight in the sitting room of our palace. They packed clothes, daggers, and swords, and sent servants to prepare food. I checked on their progress frequently, begging Hector to bring his armor with him.

"We're only going Mount Ida! We'll be gone only days!" he protested.

"And if there are bandits?" I pointed out.

"There haven't been any reports of bandits for months," he said, and Paris agreed.

"Will you at least take your breastplate?" I pleaded, and Hector sighed.

"Andromache, this is probably the least dangerous journey I'll ever take. The breastplate would be more likely to tire me out and chafe my skin than protect me."

"Fine," I conceded. "Do as you will. But if you come back with a single scratch, I'll make you wear your armor everywhere you go for a week."

Paris could not contain his laughter. "She sounds serious, Hector!"

"She's only being stubborn so I'll take the damned armor," Hector replied, amused. "I'll agree to your terms. However, I won't get a scratch, so it does not matter."

"So confident," I teased, bending to kiss his cheek. "Good night, you two. Have a safe journey," I told Paris, then retired to my chambers for bed.

They left early in the morning, even before dawn's soft light streaked across the sky. Hector did not wake me to say goodbye, but when I woke, there was a freshly cut wild rose waiting for me. It rested atop his breastplate. Though he had gone against my wishes, I could not help but smile at the way he chose to express it.

Paris and Hector were gone for four days, returning in the early afternoon of the fourth day with what they sought: Oenone. She was beautiful, in a fragile way. She was shorter than I, and thin. Each part of her was remarkably tiny; she had a child's hands and feet. Despite her life in the wild, her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her honey-brown hair was caught up in a bun, but many wisps had escaped, framing large amber eyes that were as calm and sweet as a heifer's. Her thin hair blew wildly in the wind of Troy, and I worried that the strong wind would someday carry her away with it.

I was the first of the family to welcome her to Troy, because Paris and Hector stopped by our palace first. She was painfully shy, but made every effort to be kind. I liked her immediately, but also felt sorry for her. As we spoke, she kept looking to Paris for reassurance. She never strayed from his side. I both admired her devotion and pitied her for it. She had left the only life she had ever known to follow the man she loved.

Before Paris left to introduce her to his parents, he took me aside. He looked toward the staircase, where Hector had just gone up to our room to change into fresh clothes. "He received a scratch," he informed me gleefully. "If he finds out I told you, he'll have my head."

"I won't tell him," I promised, thanking him for the information. Then I hurried upstairs to confront my husband.

Hector turned to the wall when I quietly opened the door. He wore a clean under-skirt, but was bare-chested. "Did you like the flower?" he asked casually, still facing the wall. Swiftly I picked up the tunic he had laid out.

"I did," I answered. "And I am glad you've returned unharmed."

He groped at the table, searching for the tunic. He turned his head toward me. I dangled the cloth from my fingers, inviting him to come take it from me.

Sighing in defeat, he turned. A long, narrow line of blood stretched along his collarbone. "A bush," he stated. "A bush that apparently wanted to ruin my life, or at least my week."

"We did have a deal," I acknowledged, smirking. I could not resist the opportunity to tease him. "You'll have to wear your armor at the evening meal, and in the stables, in the bath…"

A grin spread across his face, and he moved toward me, his eyes intense. "Now really, love," he said coyly, plucking the tunic from my hands and tossing it on the floor. "Would you rather see me in full armor, or in nothing at all?"

The next day, Paris asked me why I had not held Hector to our terms. Smiling, I told him I had been open to negotiations.

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Thanks for reading, reviews are really appreciated. More to come! 


	23. Immortal Breath

**A/N:** It's really frustrating to post new chapters and not get feedback. I'd like to know your opinions on the story, to let me know what I'm doing right and help me improve. It's hard for the writer to know if their point is getting across. **I want to make this story better, and the only way I can do that is by knowing how it comes across so far.** Thanks to the few of you that have given me your opinions, and I really hope more of you will share your feelings of the story with me too.

This chapter is dedicated to the brilliant **AphroditeIncarnate**. The Troy discussions have been so inspiring and fun, and this chapter wouldn't have been written anytime soon without them.

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Chapter Twenty-Three: Immortal Breath 

During the first week Oenone spent in Troy, Hector and Aeneas had a drill for the army. Held monthly, the drill was a way for every soldier in the city to practice forming ranks, advancing, retreating, and obeying their commanders. Years of practice ensured that most soldiers knew how to form ranks quickly and maintain them, even while moving. But there were always new, young soldiers who needed more practice.

I used to look forward to those days. In fact, they were a treat for the whole city. The soldiers themselves did not seem to mind spending an entire day obeying the orders of the commanders. Most often, they came to the field in full armor with all their weapons, and as the day grew hotter they would cast aside the heavy armor and work in short skirts that did not impede their movement. Especially during the summer months, the commanders allowed frequent rests. The men were always laughing and joking with each other, and the commanders did not mind so long as they executed the drills well. The wives and children of the soldiers, as well as anyone who wanted to observe, gathered on the walls to watch. During breaks, the men would shout up at the walls to joke with the observers. These training days were truly enjoyed by all Trojans.

That day, Oenone, Laodice, Creusa, and I lounged on chairs on the royal platform that overlooked the plain. Because it was Oenone's first time witnessing the drills, Priam had already explained the purpose to her. It was up to us to inform her of each man's duty.

"Hector commands all the Trojans," I told her proudly. "And he supervises the training of the cavalrymen, charioteers, spearmen--"

"And Deiphobus desperately wants to be his second in command," Laodice interrupted cheerfully. "But Aeneas is Dardanian, and making him Hector's second will unite the two races if we ever go to war. Besides," she continued, "Deiphobus' war skills are no match for Aeneas'."

"He's not nearly as handsome, either," Creusa said shyly, and we all laughed. I remembered Aeneas' carefully concealed love for Creusa, and could not hide a hopeful smile.

"Have you seen these men fight before?" Oenone asked, her gaze locked on her husband. It was Paris' first time participating in the event. Hector had praised him on his skill as an archer, and he had agreed to join their ranks. He stood with the other archers, behind the charioteers and infantrymen, looking a little nervous.

"No," Creusa admitted. "War has not come so close to Troy in our lifetime. They often fight bandits, or raiders, but even those battles are fought far out of sight. We only hear how each man fought from his comrades."

I cannot express how fervently I wish I could return to that time. The casualness of the drill and the laughter that accompanied it contrasts sharply with the battles I would later observe. I could admiringly watch Hector lead his troops, without worrying that he was in danger. We all lazed about, idly watching the men; later, we would lean tensely over the wall, panicking as we searched for the ones we loved in the fray. Every woman fears for her husband during a battle, and prays for his safe return to her arms. I have heard men express different wishes. They yearn for their chance to prove themselves as warriors, hoping to be known as a hero. I say that this is foolish. Let them earn reputations on the training grounds. I do not understand how they can be so eager to fight and lose their lives, only so their names can live on.

But at the time, we were all still naïve and impressed by our warriors. We contentedly listened to Hector and Aeneas bellow commands, sipping cool water and commenting on various soldiers. By the time Aeneas announced the second rest of the day, the vast majority of the soldiers had already stripped their armor. Some of the young, flirtatious men called up to the maidens on the walls, enticing them to pour water down over their heads. When the maidens reluctantly obliged, the men thanked them charmingly, stomping in the puddles, flexing their muscles, and shaking the water from their hair, knowing that even the shy women would marvel at the way the droplets shone against their taut skin.

"Shameless louts!" Laodice criticized, but an appreciative smile played on her lips as she continued to stare at the men. I chuckled and stood, searching for Hector so I could wave at him.

I spotted him near Paris, no doubt offering encouragement and praise. Deiphobus stood a short distance away, glowering. For once, I understood his anger. The small palace he had wanted so much had been given to Paris and Oenone. Priam reasoned that because he was the second eldest, and already married, the palace rightfully belonged to Paris. Deiphobus, of course, strongly disagreed. The argument had nearly come to blows, but Hector and Antiphus had intervened, saving their brothers from physical harm. Now only Deiphobus' silent hatred remained.

"He has great skill with a bow," Oenone said softly, disrupting my thoughts. "When we lived on Mount Ida, he would always show off for me, shooting pheasants and such."

I was surprised by this admission. In the few days I had known Oenone, all I was able to discover about her was that she was painfully shy. "He does seem the type to enjoy showing off," I said, hoping the conversation would continue.

"Oh, he is," she replied, with a warm affection in her voice. "He's romantic, as well. He carved our names in the trunks of trees, and sang to me as he tended the bulls." She seemed to remember that her husband was no longer a herdsman. "Of course, I am excited to be part of his new life," she amended. And as if trying to prove that, she paid close attention to the drills until the end of the day, asking questions and noting how handsome Paris looked in his armor. I recognized her attempts to fight off homesickness and adjust to her new life, and a wave of pity rushed through me. I had been in her same position, less than a year before. That afternoon, I resolved to help her adapt to Troy, hoping she could one day feel comfortable calling it her home.

The next day, Hector was free of councils and training. He disappeared from our chambers early in the morning and returned some time later carrying a basket of food. "No weaving today," he announced, seeing my position at the loom. "We're going out."

I left the loom without hesitation. "Where are we going?" I asked, but he only smiled and shook his head. Still, anything was better than a dull day of weaving. Snatching up a veil to shield my face from the sun, I followed him from our palace.

Lampos was waiting in the courtyard, his halter tied around the trunk of a lemon tree. The horse looked up as we approached, lazily chewing grass he had torn from the ground. Handing me the basket, Hector moved to untie him. I was hardly nervous, at least compared to the first few times Hector took me to ride him. The sheer size and strength of the beast still intimidated me, but I had faith in my husband's ability to handle him.

Soon we were trotting through the city, and I still did not know where we were headed. People waved to us as we came through, and Hector greeted them in return, but we did not pause. I grew more and more puzzled as we passed the places I thought we might visit. We went by the marketplace, the Tower of Ilium, and the temples without stopping. When Hector ordered the guards to open one of the gates and let us through, I finally ventured a guess.

"Are we going to the harbor?" I asked. The harbor at Troy was always swarming with merchants, sailors, and other travelers. Priam had explained the importance of the harbor to me. It is well known that the straits of the Hellespont are nearly impossible to cross, because of the capricious winds. Ships had to stop in Troy's bay, and when they did, Priam would send soldiers to welcome them. These soldiers would suggest that the captain of the vessel give some of his cargo to Troy, as payment for the use of their harbor. Very few refused, knowing that a Trojan warship could catch them easily and take all their cargo, as well as the lives of the crew. Priam acknowledged that a great deal of his city's wealth had come from this system. Because of Troy's location, the city literally controlled all trade from the Black Sea to the Aegean, and exacted payment from many vessels. All travelers still grumbled about the ship-fee, but everyone had come to accept it.

"Not the harbor," Hector answered. "The beach."

At this, I grew excited. It is true that I am biased, but in all the places I have been, I have seen no beach so beautiful as that of Troy. The simplicity of the fine sand, constant waves, and endless sky was breathtaking. In those days, it was clean and usually empty; a stark contrast to later years when it was crowded with dark ships and filthy Achaean soldiers. On the horizon, it was possible to see the hazy line that was the island of Tenedos, but apart from that, there was only the glittering sea.

The beach was entirely empty when we reached it. Hector tied Lampos' reins around a boulder, and with no embarrassment whatsoever, he stripped off his clothes and leapt into the water. With swift, powerful strokes, he swam until only his head was above the waves. "Come out," he called, waving an arm. Unlacing my sandals, I shook my head.

"I cannot swim," I reminded him, and he began swimming toward me. I shouted to stop him. "I'll stay in the shallows." Shaking his head in defeat, he turned and continued to power through the waves.

Shaking the sand from his crumpled tunic, I folded it and dropped my sandals next to his own. Being much shyer than my husband, I waded into the sea fully clothed. The water was comfortably warm. I walked in until the water reached my chest, then closed my eyes and stood on my toes, letting Poseidon's unyielding waves rock me back and forth. I even attempted and somewhat succeeded at floating on my back, but irksome splashes of salty water on my face made me right myself again. It seemed as though hours had gone by before Hector swam past me, heading for shore. I enjoyed the steady motion of the waves for a few more minutes before languidly returning to the sand.

Hector had pulled on his tunic, and it clung to his damp skin. He had already given Lampos water from a skein, and lay with his arms behind his head, contemplating the sky. I stretched out beside him, closing my eyes, and he moved so that I could use his firm shoulder as a cushion. For a while, we remained silent, absorbed in our own thoughts. Though I was motionless and on dry land, I could still feel the soothing movement of the waves, as if they still rocked my body in their ever-changing arms. The feeling threatened to lull me to sleep, so with no small effort, I opened my eyes and focused on the view instead. I was engrossed in the warmth of the sun as it dried my peplos, and the brightness and clarity of the day. The sea seemed to go on forever, blending with the cloudless sky an unthinkable distance from where we lay. On that beach, with no people around but us, I felt almost as though we were in the gaze of the immortal gods.

"It feels as though this place has been here since the dawn of time," Hector murmured. "And will be this way for unimaginable amounts of time."

This was so close to what I was feeling that I smiled. "It does," I agreed. It all fit together so perfectly. I was pleasantly overwhelmed by the ancient sand, sky, and sea, and in that moment, his bronze hand against my pale arm seemed as permanent as everything else. Made bold by this idea, I asked what was perhaps the most naïve question of my life.

"Do you think our love will last forever?"

I was foolish, and terribly young. But you cannot tell me, my friend, that you have not experienced a love or known someone who left you wishing for perpetual life. Hector was that person, to me. As soon as the words left my lips, I felt him grow tense.

"Our love will last as long as we live," he answered cautiously. "But I do not believe it will last forever."

His words stung and shocked me. I had expected a romantic affirmation, not denial. I pushed myself into a sitting position. Looking guilty, he propped himself up on his elbows. I drew back. "You do not believe our love will endure?" I asked. "Our love is not as strong as that of Orpheus and Eurydice? Or Perseus and Andromeda?"

"Must you compare us to Orpheus and Eurydice? They were only reunited in the underworld, and only after long suffering. And Perseus and Andromeda were separated in death." I narrowed my eyes and he hastily added, "But that was not what I meant. I have absolute faith in our love, Andromache. What I do not believe in is forever."

The wound his previous words had left began to heal; yet I could not comprehend why he felt that way. "How can you not believe in eternity?" I asked softly, trailing my fingers through the sand, making simple lines. "I can't imagine this place ever changing."

"I wish I could believe," he replied quietly. "I used to. But from what I have seen, I no longer do." He continued in a bitter tone, staring out over the sea, but I think he wasn't really seeing it. "Men are cut down, their lives ended in an instant. Cities fall and never regain their former glory. Ships sink, and walls crumble. Sometimes I think even the gods will not live forever in the lives of men," he finished, then looked startled. "I did not mean to sound so harsh. I only meant that they seem to withdraw as time goes on."

I was silent. Even then, as a fairly young man, he possessed wisdom I had not seen even in advisors of the court. But at the time, I did not want to believe him. Privately I thought that our love would last. I do not know what I was expecting, really. Perhaps that we would die together, after long lives, and go on to the halls of Hades together, never to be parted.

I was wrong.

"Forgive me, love," Hector said gently, twisting a strand of my dark hair around his finger. "It is too pleasant a day to speak of such things."

Gradually, I lowered my head to his shoulder, and we resumed our relaxed positions. Yet the peaceful feeling was long gone, for me, at least. That day, the sky was endless, the sea eternal, the wind constant, the sand ageless. In that moment, how could he not believe in forever? But he never did; even in those immortal breaths, he had his doubts. And he was right. He was wise enough to see that no one is blessed enough to last forever.

Not even us.

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Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate it if you would take the time to share your thoughts. More to come. 


	24. Tangled Threads

A/N: Thanks so much for the feedback on the last chapter! It was really helpful. I appreciate it! And thanks to **Lariren Shadow** for her help on this when I was being an idiot.

My New Year's resolution was to update this story at least once a month. As you can see, I cut it pretty close this month. I blame laptop troubles—they're hard to get used to! Anyway, I plan to stick to this resolution. Message me to complain if I don't.

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Chapter Twenty-Four: Tangled Threads

Hector's thoughts on eternity left me in a contemplative mood. Given the chance, I would have questioned him incessantly the next day. Luckily, I was not given the opportunity. My husband was called away in the middle of the night. I cannot recall the exact reason, probably because he was summoned so often. Presumably, there were bandits in the mountains, or raiders from the sea. I only remember that he was not gone for long; a week at most.

Knowing that my household duties would not help me to clear our conversation from my mind, I decided not to focus on them yet. I informed the servants that there were clothes to be washed, and I slipped away to visit Oenone.

She sat on a stone bench outside the manor she and Paris shared, leaning against a wall with her eyes closed. Evidently, she had not been awake long enough to start her day. Her feet were bare, her soft hair unbound. She looked years younger than I knew her to be. For a moment I stared, reluctant to make my presence known. It felt wrong to bring this content child from her mind's wanderings.

"Good morning, Oenone," I called finally. Her doe-like eyes snapped open, and her cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she stood to greet me.

"Andromache!" she replied. "I am sorry. I was not expecting anyone to visit me! I'm not even properly dressed--"

"It is no matter," I laughed. "Was Paris called away last night?"

A mild sadness marred her delicate face. "Yes. Hector asked him to go along."

"I thought he might," I said lightly. "I doubt they'll be gone for too long, though. Have you any plans for today?"

Already she was nervously toying with her hair, as if she was embarrassed of it. "I do not know. I suppose there is weaving to be done."

That, perhaps, is one of the only similarities between Achaea and Troy. There is _always_ weaving to be done. I learned this as a child, and it is one of few customs that remains constant. It is a comfort to me now, though in my younger years I never would have expected that I would find solace in weaving!

I only smiled at Oenone. "Let us at least weave together," I suggested.

And so we found ourselves in the cramped and cluttered weaving room in the palace Hector and I shared. Though it was not my favorite place, I was pleased to find that it was bearable on that day. The absence of a crowd of giggling maids had something to do with that, I suspect. Oenone selected a loom and some smoky blue thread. I was careful to sit near her, but on the opposite wall of the tiny room. We were still close enough for conversation, but with luck, she would not turn and see the product of my embarrassing lack of weaving skills. I did not usually take such pains. The maids, I am sure, joked about my atrocious weaving. Even Hector chuckled at how long it took me to create a length of cloth that was relatively unmarred. I knew Oenone was too kind to laugh at my weaving, but I did not wish for her to witness it until we were on friendlier terms.

"What are you weaving?" I asked, choosing a heavy un-dyed thread. The ships of Troy were always in need of sails, and I could manage a simple square of cloth, if given enough time.

"A tunic for Paris," she replied. "He ripped one yesterday."

"It seems men need repairs to their clothes far more often than we do," I commented, easing into a more personal subject. "How long have you known Paris?"

Maybe it was easier for her to speak to me without having to face me. She still hesitated, but answered in a strong voice. "I've known him for years. I was perhaps nine summers old when we met."

"How did you meet?" I asked cautiously. I did not want to push her boundaries, but I was curious.

"His father—surrogate father, I know now—came to our home and asked my father to consult the river god. He was worried about flooding, I believe. Paris accompanied him. I will never forget the first time I saw him," she sighed. "He was already a young man, at thirteen years of age. He stood taller than his old father even then. His hair was longer then, but those eyes…" she trailed off, and I sensed she was blushing. "Well, you've seen him. I was too nervous to speak to him, even when he made conversation."

"You were so young!" I said. "I would have been too shy to speak to a handsome man at that age as well. Except my brothers," I amended.

"I have no brothers. I had never seen a man so handsome," she confessed. "He and his father visited frequently over the next few years, and eventually I managed to speak to him. We became friends quickly, and I suppose it just progressed naturally from there." Now I knew she was blushing. "I fell in love with him at nine years of age, though we did not even kiss until three years later. I thought I was dreaming when he first spoke of his desire to marry me, and then it came to pass! It is strange to think we have only been wed a few months, though," she concluded. "It feels like it has been so much longer."

I was surprised, both that she shared so much and that she had been in love since the age of nine. "How old are you now?" I asked.

"I will have seen sixteen summers, come this one," she replied. From her childlike appearance, I thought she was younger. But she was only a year younger than I; closer to my age than any of Priam's daughters. I happened to glance at my weaving, and that shook me from my thoughts. Already, my untalented hands had created two flaws in the cloth.

"How long have you and Hector been wed?" Oenone questioned cheerily.

I began undoing the row I had just completed, calculating. "Ten months," I said finally. "No, nearly a year. I had not realized how long until just now. It seems much shorter," I mused. Then again, I had grown to truly love my husband, when a year ago I would have liked to throttle him. For a moment, I lost myself in the person I had been only a year ago. I would not have imagined my happiness. I expected to be little more than property, needed only to satisfy the desires of a bloodthirsty, power-hungry warlord.

"It is strange to remember what I thought my life would be like," I said to Oenone, because the silence was too heavy. "I expected to loathe my wifely duties. I saw myself obeying my husband's every whim, and being beaten if I did not. By this time, I thought I'd—" Abruptly, I closed my mouth. Unwittingly, I had stumbled upon an expectation that I did not wish to revisit. It slipped into my dreams occasionally, and haunted me while I was awake and alone. I did not wish to think of it then.

"Andromache?" Oenone prompted. I shot to my feet, spilling a basket of un-spun wool.

"It's just this room," I explained hastily, stuffing the wool back into the basket. "It's far too small. Some fresh air will help." Turning toward the door, I gave her an apologetic smile, and my gaze landed on her loom.

Her weaving skills were clearly as terrible as mine.

"You cannot weave!" I exclaimed, and immediately regretted my words as her cheeks flushed and she cast her gaze at the ground. "No, no, I do not mean—look at my weaving." I pointed at my loom, where the tangles were still painfully evident. "I have always been a wretched weaver. My fingers simply cannot keep the threads in their proper places."

Oenone's grin made the room seem larger. "I thought I would never meet someone whose talent matched my own."

"Nor did I!"

She studied her cloth, then mine. "Perhaps our finger are stiff from the cold," she suggested innocently, a conspiring smile gracing her lips. "It would be foolish to continue our work when the weather is forcing us to make mistakes."

Here was a side of Oenone I had not expected to see. Behind her innocent, sweet exterior, she was capable of mischief and humor. As our friendship grew, I saw this aspect of her more and more often. But this was my first introduction, ad I did not know how to react.

I stared at our mangled work and decided to play along. "The spring chill has taken its toll on our nimble hands," I agreed with a mock mournfulness. "Perhaps we should rest in the courtyard until our fingers regain their warmth."

They never did, of course, at least not that we would admit to. Our friendship continued in that manner. We would weave for a short period of time, then blame the weather for our poor work and abandon it. Sometimes we went to the marketplace, the temples, or to watch the training of new soldiers. Often we sat in the courtyard and talked for hours about whatever came to mind.

It was during one of our long talks that an uncomfortable subject came up. Spring hovered on the brink of a torturously hot summer, and our husbands were taking advantage of the ideal temperature. Along with young Polites, they were in the arena near the stables working with a fairly gentle mare. Hector was determined that both his brothers should learn to ride. Polites was excited, but Paris was not fond of horses. Oenone and I had observed their lesson earlier than morning, and it was clear that Polites had more ability than Paris did, although he was ten years his junior.

"We're going to need a new excuse to avoid weaving," I told Oenone as we lounged in the courtyard. We stared in the direction of the weaving room. "It is no longer too cold."

"We really should have stopped using that excuse months ago," she conceded. "Perhaps we can say that little room becomes too hot in the summer."

"They'll wonder why we do not try weaving in a larger chamber," I pointed out. She was silent, a contemplative expression etched onto her face. "If only there was some disease that only prevented us from weaving."

"But we already have that," she said with a wide grin. "Clumsy hands."

I laughed, glancing at her long fingers. "I doubt anyone will believe our reason."

"Anyone who must wear the garments we make would agree," she countered, tipping her head back to look at the bright sky. I sipped from a goblet of watered wine and pondered believable excuses. I had gone on a ride with Hector a few days prior, and he allowed me to hold onto Lampos' reins. I had a small blister on the base of my finger, but it did not hinder my work. Perhaps if I expressed an interest in the beast and went riding a few more times—

"There is a disease!" Oenone cried, chuckling. "Well, not a disease, exactly, but close enough."

"What is it?" I shot into an upright position, eager to hear of a plan that did not involve a horse I was still a bit fearful of.

"Pregnancy," she said, and I stiffened. "When my cousin was with child, she craved salt. Her husband obliged her, and she ate fish, meat, and even figs, all covered with salt. Soon, her hands swelled so badly she could not move them well enough to weave. It seems extreme, but it is an excuse. Who would argue with a woman in that state?"

She looked quite pleased, and I hated that I could not return her enthusiasm. In truth, she had inadvertently hit on my deepest shame. Hector and I had been married over a year, and I had still not managed to produce his child.

From your face, my friend, I can see that you sympathize. After all, arranged marriages have only two purposes: to create a valuable political alliance, and produce heirs. My marriage was advantageous to Thebe, and to some extent, Troy. But beyond that, I had failed.

"Andromache?" Oenone asked, the laughter gone from her voice. I met her eyes and tried to smile, but it was as if my lips had lost their ability to curve upward.

"I am sorry," I began softly. "I do not like to think of being with child. Hector and I have been wed for over a year. By this time, I thought I would be a proud mother."

Her eyes grew large with worry, and she reached for my hand. "It is I who should apologize. It was a callous jest."

"It is no fault of yours," I protested. "If I take offense at the slightest mention of it, I'll be in a sorry state."

"No, it was a foolish thing to say." She slid closer, taking both of my hands in hers. "But you will have children someday, sister." I started to cut in, but she was not finished. "We both will. Someday, we'll sit on this very bench and watch our children play in the dirt, and we will think back on this unhappy day and laugh."

I smiled despite myself. I did not quite believe her confident words, but they were still comforting. After all, she had not produced Paris' heirs either. Perhaps the gods had not seen it fit to bless us just yet.

It was that thought that I clung to in my darkest hours, when I felt tempted to curse the gods for not bestowing Hector and I with what we desired. With Oenone, even the gravest of matters could be overcome. I cannot express how much I valued our strong friendship. I am still thankful that I experienced such joy with her, though it was far too brief.

It was not long before the gods threatened to tear us apart.

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More next month, promise. Thanks for reading, please review! 


	25. Unwitting Betrayal

A/N: Here's this month's chapter, a little early. I've been writing all day so I'm not sure it makes perfect sense. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for your reviews on the last chapter!

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Chapter Twenty-five: Unwitting Betrayal

After only a few months, I feared the strong friendship I shared with Oenone was ending. Quite abruptly, she stopped visiting me. At first I believed she only wanted to spend more time with her husband, but Hector soon informed me that Paris had been attending every counsel Priam held. When I visited her manor, a maid told me that she would not see visitors. It pained me to see Hecuba and Laodice enter her home the very next day. With no explanation, she had removed herself from my life, leaving a gaping hole in her absence.

In Thebe, I had no close friendships such as this one, and in Troy no one had broken our bonds. I did not know what to think of the situation. "It's as if she has disappeared," I complained to Hector. We were in a green pasture just outside of the city walls, where dozens of horses grazed. My husband was training a young stallion to pull a chariot by pairing him with an older mare. Already, the pair had managed to flip the battered training chariot. Hector blamed a small rock for the incident.

"And she gave you no explanation?" Hector asked, examining a wheel.

"No. One day we were planning to visit Apollo's temple, and the next she vanished."

"She hasn't vanished," he reasoned. "Paris would have made a fuss if she had."

I gave him an odd look, but he did not turn his eyes from his task to see it. "She has not allowed me to see her," I reminded him. "And she hasn't attended any meals in your father's hall for over a week. Paris comes alone, or not at all."

At last he turned his attention from the wheel with a thoughtful expression. "True enough," he admitted, stepping onto the unstable chariot. With a tug of the long reins, the mare picked up a slow pace, and the stallion reluctantly did the same.

A young horse energetically nosed my waist. I swallowed a shriek and darted away. "She allowed your mother and Laodice to visit, but won't see me," I called as the distance between Hector and I grew. "I do not remember saying anything that might offend her."

The wheels of the chariot creaked loudly as they rolled out of a small indentation in the field. The sound must have frightened the stallion, for he galloped forward, leaving the mare no choice but to increase her pace. "Why don't you ask Paris?" Hector shouted, pulling the reins and leaning back. He could not reach out to steady himself, but miraculously managed to remain standing, at least until the horses changed direction. Then the chariot tilted dangerously, and he spilled onto the grass, rolling a few times. Picking up my cumbersome skirt, I ran to him.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, and he shook his head, propping himself up on his hands. With his legs stretched out in front of him, he forcefully expelled a breath, watching his beloved horses disappear into the distance.

"It wasn't a rock this time," he admitted.

"Perhaps it was an error of the charioteer?" My suggestion earned a scowl. I extracted a few blades of grass from his hair before he stood up.

"Clearly, the beast was frustrated with the drama of women," he countered stubbornly, pressing a kiss to my brow. He set off at a sprint in the direction of the runaways, leaving me laughing.

Oenone was again absent at the evening meal, but Paris was not. I waited impatiently until nearly everyone had retired to confront him. During a break in the easy conversation between he and Hector, I cut in. "I have not seen your wife in over a week, Paris," I blurted out.

His hands were busy, twirling his empty gold goblet. "She is ill," he said, and I was surprised at his lack of concern. I leaned forward to question him more thoroughly, but Hector placed his hand on my arm. He must have sensed a deeper reason for his brother's distraction. After a few more spins of the goblet, Paris spoke.

"Do you believe in the power of dreams?" he asked, still staring at the gleaming gold.

I was too confused to respond. In the time I had known Paris, he did not strike me as the type of man to concern himself with dreams and omens. Hector did not hesitate, though. "Dreams are messages from the gods," he said.

"I know that," Paris said, his voice unsteady. "But I did not think the gods themselves would visit people in their dreams."

I thought of Aphrodite summoning me to her garden as I slept, almost a year before. The power of that dream awes me, even to this day. "It is not unheard of," I remarked.

The goblet spun faster now, rocking wildly. "Do you think a decision you made in a dream might affect your life somehow?" Hector reached out to steady the goblet, causing Paris to look up. His expression was one of fear and uncertainty. "Is that possible?" he asked.

"Tell us of this dream, brother," Hector ordered, both affectionate and stern.

Paris' eyes returned to the table. "I dreamt I was in the mountains again, tending my bulls," he began shakily. "I was resting under a tree when Hermes of the Winged Sandals descended. He told me Zeus had sent him. The father of all gods wanted me to settle a dispute between three goddesses."

Already his story seemed absurd. I wondered if perhaps his dream held no significance, but immediately felt blasphemous thinking so.

"Why did he want you to judge?" Hector asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. I admired his desire to understand. Cassandra and Helenus were skilled in interpreting dreams, not he.

"I judge a bull contest between fellow herdsmen," Paris replied. "I think that was his reason. I did not wish to offend the god, so I agreed. An instant later, Lady Aphrodite, Pallas Athena, and Queen Hera descended from the clouds to stand before me, and I had to judge them."

"What did you judge them on?" Hector interrupted.

Paris looked truly uncomfortable. "Beauty." At our raised brows, he hurried to clarify. "Lord Zeus held a banquet, and Eris, Goddess of Discord, was not invited. According to Hermes, she created a golden apple inscribed with the words 'To the Fairest,' and threw it down amidst the festivities. The goddesses were fighting over it, and I was expected to choose the most beautiful of the three."

I could not think of a more ridiculous dream. How much wine, exactly, had Paris had before retiring?

"Go on," Hector encouraged him.

"It was not a fair contest. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they began making me offers. Each tried to bribe me—and I'll admit, they were splendid bribes. Hera offered to make me a powerful king, while Athena promised if I chose her, I would win every battle I fought. And Aphrodite offered me the most beautiful woman in the world." Paris looked at Hector, somewhat pleadingly. "I tried to ignore their bribes. I am truly happy to be a prince of Troy, and I know I do not need what they offered."

Hector only nodded, but I suspected he was fantasizing about Athena's offer. It certainly would have benefited Troy in the years to follow.

"So I tried to judge the goddesses strictly on their beauty, which was a difficult task. After all, they were each a hundred times lovelier than any mortal woman." Glancing at me, his face flushed a deep red. "I apologize," he said hastily, speaking to Hector as well as me. "I meant no insult--"

"I take no offense," I assured him. After seeing Aphrodite, I knew it was the truth.

"But it was Aphrodite who truly deserved the prize. All the statues built in her honor do not do her justice." His eyes no longer focused on his audience. "Her hair is brighter than the sun when it reflects off of the ocean in the evenings. Her eyes are the color of Aeneas', but deeper, and they seem to glitter. And her smile… I cannot even explain it. It was like a beacon of joy, but there was something dangerous about it." He shrugged apologetically. "A bard could tell it better. The sight was wasted on me."

Perhaps a bard could tell it better, but not so truthfully. Paris' description was startlingly close to the way I recalled Aphrodite's beautiful face. Could his dream have some significance?

"You chose her," I stated.

Paris nodded. "The apple was rightfully hers."

"The other goddesses must have been furious," Hector said somberly.

"They left quickly. I was left with Aphrodite, who taunted me with her bribe."

"There was nothing else?" I asked.

He would not meet my eyes. "No. She left, as well, and I awoke soon after."

Hector crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Perhaps you should speak to Helenus about this," he suggested. "But I am not certain it has a true meaning. After all, you were still a herdsman in your dream. And you are already married."

Paris appeared to consider this, but his eyes were still distant and unfocused. "I am already married," he echoed. He spoke no more of the dream, and soon it disappeared from my mind as well. We would not learn of its significance for many months to come.

The next morning I marched to Oenone's manor, feeling guilt behind my determination. Hector had advised me not to visit her, in case her illness would spread to me. Obviously, I was not eager to catch some disease, but since Hecuba and Laodice had been to see her and were well, I believed I would be unhurt. And I did emerge from that manor unharmed; physically, at least.

Despite the maid's protests, I slipped past her and hurried to the bedchamber. I hesitated at the closed door and thought of announcing my presence. But why give her an opportunity to turn me away? Taking a deep breath, I shoved open the thick door and found my friend.

She did look ill. Her skin was flushed, and her hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. An elderly maid was with her, wiping at her mouth with a cloth. There was a heavy odor in the air, and when I moved closer, I realized the stench came from the vomit in a bowl the maid held.

"Andromache!" Oenone cried miserably. "You were not supposed to visit."

"You were not supposed to disappear," I retorted, but my words lacked the frustration and hurt I had been feeling. "I did not realize you were ill until last night."

"Leave us," she ordered the maid. She took a few breaths, more to steady her stomach than her mind, I think. "I did not want you to know of my illness."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," I assured her, reaching to smooth her damp hair from her brow. I wanted to confront her, but only felt sympathy. "I wish you had told me. I was worried."

"I did not want you to know," she repeated, anguish clear in her voice.

Though I was quickly becoming even more confused, I reached for her hands. Miraculously, a sense of friendship felt perfectly natural, even in a time like that. "You allowed Hecuba and Laodice to visit you, but not me," I pointed out. "You are my closest friend, Oenone. I do not know what to think."

Quite suddenly, she burst into tears. "I did not mean to hurt you!" she wailed. "But I have hurt you and it—it isn't my fault--"

I moved to put my arms around her. "Hush," I soothed, glad that my voice did not betray how frantic I felt. "You haven't hurt me. I was only confused. You are ill, sister. Hush."

But she continued to sob, her lithe frame trembling wildly. "I know it is what you want—now I have an excuse for weaving, but not you—and I wish the gods had blessed you too!"

"Oenone," I said, attempting Hector's tone of affectionate authority. "You have not hurt me, or our friendship. Your illness has confused you. You'll regain your health soon."

"No!" she shouted, pulling free from my arms. "This is no ordinary disease, Andromache! It is the illness I spoke of—the weaving illness!"

A sharp dread filled my stomach. I knew precisely of what she spoke, but I would not allow myself to think it. "The weaving illness?" I repeated coolly.

Her tears started afresh. She frantically reached toward the floor. Too late I realized she was searching for the bowl that her maid had taken. She vomited all over the stone floor. Instinct made my hand shoot forward to rub her shoulders and hold her hair away from her face, but cruelty held me back. My hand hovered in the air, useless and awkward.

"The weaving illness," I said again. She wiped her mouth and sat up, genuine sorrow in her teary eyes.

"I am with child," she affirmed, and my own eyes welled with tears.

Any true friend would have been happy for her. I felt like vomiting myself. A significant part of our friendship was built on the fact that neither of us had children. I know it was a foolish idea, but I expected us to raise our children together. I expected us to receive the gods' blessing around the same time, only I would be first. Hector and I had been wed for over a year; Paris and Oenone, only a few months. I knew, even at the time, that I was being petty and childish, but all I could think of was how unfair the situation was.

"You're the first person I've told," she said, still weeping. "Not even Paris knows. Hecuba suspects, of course, but I would not admit it to her. I did not want to tell you, Andromache."

"Did you plan to avoid me until your babe was born?" I asked dryly. I wished I could infuse some happiness into my voice.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "I don't know. I feel as if I've betrayed you."

Hearing her say it snapped me to awareness. I was still being petty, and I was still hurt, but she was my closest friend. She did not purposely hurt me. With false cheer, I took her clammy hand. "Don't be silly," I chirped. Somehow, I still sounded mournful. "You'll be a mother, Oenone!"

Surely she heard how fake my words were, but she ignored it. I think she wanted to preserve our friendship. "And you'll be an aunt," she croaked out, embracing me again.

I chattered on about what a fine child she would have, barely paying attention to my own words. I was completely numb. I chided myself for having such a negative reaction, but still could not summon up any true happiness for my friend. Perhaps if I had known what was to come, I would have tried harder and forced myself to be cheerful.

Poor Oenone would have to deal with an even worse reaction from the one person who mattered most to her.

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Thanks for reading! More to come. Please review and tell me what you think. 


	26. A Lesser Man

A/N: Thanks for the feedback! I know this chapter is cutting it a bit close to my self-imposed deadline, but I hope it's worth the wait.

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Chapter Twenty-six: A Lesser Man 

I do not remember walking to the Tower of Ilium that day. I do recall leaving Oenone's house, feeling lost and abandoned. I could think of no way to alleviate this new burden. The thought of revealing my childish envy to Hector was shameful. These were feelings I would normally confide to Oenone, but she was the source of my grief. The only person I seriously considered speaking to was Cassandra, but comfort was what I wanted, and in my experience, Cassandra's words were rarely soothing. Instead, I chose a comforting place to ease my pain.

By the time I reached the top of the tower, my limbs felt like lead, and my skin was damp with perspiration. I sank down with my back against the parapet and wept. The tears that spattered on the uneven stone floor would be the first of many to stain the same spot over the years. I sobbed until I had no tears left. And, just as would happen in the future, I was left with an aching head and a foolish feeling. I will not pretend I overcame my envy that afternoon—indeed, I had to stifle jealousy throughout Oenone's pregnancy. But I came to realize that I would loathe myself if I could not at least pretend to be happy for my friend. She could not help the timing of her firstborn. That was in the hands of the gods; cruel though they could be.

On shaking legs, I stood. In my hurry to leave the citadel, I had forgotten to bring a veil, and I wished for it then. My face felt tender after nearly an hour under the blazing light of Helios. The skin around my eyes was swollen and irritated as well, so I did not wish to encounter anyone I knew on the way back to the palace. If a servant had spied me in that state, it would have fueled their frequent gossip sessions for days. In order to avoid such people, I stayed away from the main paths and marketplaces, choosing instead to take the narrow paths between quiet houses. I had never tread those streets before.

Within a quarter hour of leaving the tower, I was hopelessly lost. I was aware that somehow, I had ended up in one of the few dilapidated areas of the city. I was careful when passing a seedy tavern, but it was abandoned that early in the afternoon. I would have stopped any stranger I encountered and asked them to direct me to the citadel, but I saw no one but a young girl and her wooden doll. When I asked her if her mother or father was home, she smiled shyly and hid in a doorway. I could hear her giggles following me as I continued in what I hoped was the direction of the palace.

Soon I was desperate enough to consider demanding aid. If I shouted that the princess of Troy needed assistance immediately, surely someone would appear and guide me to the palace? I could not think of a better plan. Sighing, I placed my hands on my hips and prepared to scream. As I parted my lips, my eyes focused on a flash of gold-tinged, perfectly groomed curls in the distance. Lifting my skirts, I sprinted forward, grinning as I affirmed the identity of my rescuer.

"Paris!" I gasped out. He was leaning against a doorway with his back to me, but I knew it was he. Who else, besides baby Troilius, had so much gold in their hair? I moved closer—I was too far away for him to hear me. And then the door he was standing next to opened, and I was left speechless.

The girl who appeared on the steps was no more than sixteen years of age; somehow, I doubted she was married. She was pretty, with sleek black hair and long limbs. Her smile managed to look both coy and innocent. There were no words exchanged. In an instant, Paris' hands entangled themselves in her hair. His seductive smirk disappeared as his lips met hers. Then they disappeared through the doorway, slamming the door, and leaving the street empty.

My feet moved too quickly for me to control; my mind was struggling to accept this new truth. I was no stranger to the idea of mistresses. My father had had many. But in Troy, I had not seen nor heard evidence of any royal men having mistresses, save for Priam. It was a man's right, and I imagined that most of the princes had women they visited whenever they wished. But I assumed that because Paris had Oenone, he had no interest in other women.

How wrong I was.

As far as I can tell, that girl was one of his first affairs in Troy. In the early days, he went to great lengths to keep his women a secret. Over time, though, he grew careless. He made little attempt to veil his escapades with various maids, but he did not stop there. Often his brothers would have to defend him to angry men of Troy—soldiers, merchants, and sailors—who claimed they had caught Paris with their wives. Over the years, the royal family learned to overlook his numerous affairs, even to jest about them—myself included. I caught Paris with maids on a number of occasions and it eventually became something that I came to expect from him. I did not condone these affairs, but came to realize that he was no better a man than that. But that day was my introduction to the lecherous side of my new brother, and it left me shocked and disturbed.

By sunset, I gave up trying to reach the citadel. I was far from the street where Paris was, and completely disoriented. I sat stiffly on a broken parapet and watched the sun disappear into the ocean, leaving wispy trails of coppery orange in its wake. In the distance, I could see the Tower of Ilium, but I was too weary to puzzle out a route to it. Instead, I waited. I know it sounds silly, but I had faith that Hector would find me. It did not matter that I never visited that part of the city, or that my husband probably did not expect me to stray far from our home that day. Had you known Hector, you would understand his fierce protection of the ones he loved. It was that protection that I relied on.

Before the sun fully immersed itself in Poseidon's cool waves, I heard hurried footfalls behind me. I unfolded my hands to smooth my skirt and spoke in a voice that sounded too flat to belong to me. "I'm lost," I informed my husband. My cowardice kept me from turning toward him, but it did not stop him. He stood directly in front of me with his arms crossed, staring down into my face.

"You certainly are," he acknowledged, the anger in his voice grating. I locked my eyes on the dusty ground, avoiding his. "Tell me, my wife, what it was that drove you to explore regions of the city that the nobles avoid."

If I had wanted an argument, I would not have made such an effort to hold in a scathing remark about certain members of nobility who undoubtedly visited the area more frequently than I. Reason won out over my frustration. I would not be the one to lower Hector's esteem of his brother; in time, Paris would do that well enough on his own.

"I did not mean to visit these areas," I said evenly. "I went for a walk and lost my way."

"And you did not think to have someone more familiar with the city accompany you?"

His barely restrained rage was more than I could handle after such an emotionally tiring day. "I wished to be alone," I snapped, rising from my seat on the parapet. "I want nothing more than to return home. Will you take me there?"

The ire in his hard eyes flickered at my words, and the muscles along his jaw tensed. With obviously forced calm, he gestured toward a narrow, ragged opening between two walls. It had escaped my attention entirely. I marched through it, feeling his body only a step behind mine. We continued in strained silence for some time. Then the alley split in two, and I hesitated.

"This way," Hector said softly, taking my hand to guide me toward the left. He was significantly calmer than he had been, and I was relieved. The silence lingered as we wandered the tortuous alley, but it was comfortable. I marveled at the way my husband navigated the labyrinthine turns of the alley. If not for his presence, I would have felt more hopelessly lost than I had all day.

"Are you unhappy?" he asked abruptly, slowing his pace. "Do you miss Thebe?"

In truth, I had not thought much about my old home, and my memories of the place were not as vivid as they had been. It had taken over a year, but I had come to fully accept Troy as my home. "No. I no longer think of Thebe as my home."

He shoved his free hand through his already chaotic curls. "Did Cassandra make some sort of prophecy, then? Did you argue with Oenone? Are you angry with me for being absent so often, or is it that you prefer my absence—"

"Hector, stop."

He halted completely and turned his distressed gaze to me, but continued his frustrated questions. "Which is it, Andromache? I thought we had overcome this. If you feel you must travel as far from the palace as possible to find peace…I am concerned. You could have been harmed—"

"Oenone is with child."

I meant to infuse my tone with joy, but I sounded more ill than happy. My words were supposed to divert Hector from finding fault with himself or our marriage, but as soon as they left my lips, I knew they would have the opposite effect. He blinked slowly and bit his lip, looking more like a confused child than a grown man.

I had been so absorbed in my own dreams of parenthood that I'd completely overlooked his. Perhaps he felt no envy, but he certainly felt the same deep pain that struck me so keenly. A bright flush spread rapidly across his face, and he turned away from me. Realization jolted through me, leaving my stomach in coils.

Surely he wasn't blaming himself for our childlessness?

If anything, I believed I was somehow at fault, but I knew instinctively that arguing this would only make him feel worse. If he discovered how sorry I was that we lacked the child I longed for, he would not easily forgive himself. Thus, in my shock at seeing my powerful husband so vulnerable, I made a decision to lie to him. I would pretend that Oenone's joy brought me no pain. I would say nothing of my desire for a child of my own; and hopefully, my act would make Hector stronger.

"Surely you can abandon your princely restraint long enough to show your enthusiasm," I chirped, pleased that I was able to accomplish a cheery voice with little effort. "I can hardly wait for the little prince or princess to be born! You'll be an uncle, Hector!"

His bleary eyes showed that my false excitement left him completely unaffected. I guessed his anguished thoughts: uncle is a far cry from father. But I would not give up.

"Well, you'll be one of forty-nine uncles; but you will be the child's favorite. I wonder how early Oenone will consent to allowing her child to sit upon a horse?" I mused, searching his face for some sign that my act was serving its purpose. He still appeared to be agonized by the news, but now he was obviously confused by my cheeriness. "We can dote on the babe, and it will be such fun! Best of all, we will not be woken in the night by its cries. I do not envy Paris and Oenone the task of soothing their cranky child at night!"

His expression remained flat, but he expelled a long breath. "I suppose I should congratulate the fortunate couple," he muttered. Already he was assuming the demeanor of a proud uncle and burying his torment deep within him. "I am surprised Paris has not shouted the happy news all throughout the city."

As it turned out, Paris did not even announce the news at the evening meal. Hector and I did not make it to the palace in time for supper, and I was ravenous. I ordered a maid to bring us a platter of fruit and dried meat, although Hector said he was not hungry. When the servant delivered the meal to our chambers, I casually asked if there had been anything of interest at the dinner that we had missed.

The maid was clearly disappointed that when asked for gossip, she could not provide it. "Little was said of your absences, my lord and lady. Princess Oenone missed the meal yet again, and Prince Paris also did not attend. Nothing of interest occurred, to my knowledge."

Hector frowned, evidently disapproving of my means of gathering information. I dismissed the girl and tore into a fresh date.

"Perhaps she has not told Paris the news," Hector mused, pacing across the room.

I swallowed a bite of the sweet fruit. "I am sure she's told him. It is strange that he chose not to announce it, but maybe he wishes to wait until his wife is well enough to join him."

"That could be," he agreed, but still he paced. His anxiety served to increase my exhaustion.

"Speak to him if you think something is amiss, love, but do not worry so much," I requested finally, placing the platter by the door before curling up on the bed. His measured steps matched the rhythm of my heart, and provided a calm beat that eased me into a warm sleep. Soon, though, the pacing stopped, and against my will, I sped toward full consciousness. I felt Hector's broad hand caress my temple and then it too was gone. When I managed to pry my eyes open, the room was empty.

As weary as I was, I could not fall asleep again. I dozed fitfully until the crash of the bedchamber door opening made me shoot into a sitting position. "Hector?" I shrieked, but it was not his voice I heard. The source of the soft sobbing became clear when a blur of tear-soaked white robes flew onto the bed next to me, much as I had barged in on her earlier that day.

"Oenone, darling, what's the matter?" She clung to my gown, dampening it with her tears. She looked no better than she had that morning. Internally, I was in a state of panic. Had she learned of Paris' affair? I could not bear to see her so hurt.

"He's leaving," she sniffled.

I stroked her hair soothingly, though I did not understand the situation. "Did you tell him your news?" She nodded into my robe. "And was he excited?"

"He is ecstatic," she admitted. "I have never seen him so happy. But then he told me that he is leaving."

My hand continued squeezing hers, but I frowned, suddenly worried. "Hector has said nothing of a voyage."

Oenone met my eyes, miserable. "Hector is not going. Priam has assigned Paris to be an ambassador, of sorts. I do not understand it! It's some sort of position for his second son, and it is important."

"Priam does not know of your pregnancy, Oenone. When he finds out, he will delay this voyage, whatever it is. Paris would never want to leave you, especially not at a time like this." I did not know if there was truth in my words or not. Among Priam's sons, Hector held almost all the power. Though the competition was understated, each brother struggled to make his worth known to the family, especially their father. I could not imagine Paris giving up whatever opportunity Priam had offered him.

Thankfully, she believed my tale. "Do you think he will stay?" she murmured, her words shaky.

"I am sure of it. And he will be so enthusiastic about your baby that you will wish he had gone instead."

"I hope so," she sighed, sitting up.

"Stay here until Hector returns. You don't want the servants to see you and spread rumors, do you? Stay until you calm down."

When Hector returned, he did not question Oenone's presence in our bedchamber. He kindly escorted her home. I concentrated on staying awake and alert until he entered again, leaning against the closed door and sighing.

"Come to bed," I pleaded, alarmed by the shadows under his eyes. He obliged, listlessly moving to the bed and lying beside me, gazing at the ceiling. I propped myself up on my elbows when he did not close his eyes. "Sleep."

"I cannot," he said blankly. "My father is a fool."

I had never heard Hector speak a word against his father. "Oenone said he had some sort of assignment for Paris?"

"He made Paris an ambassador for Troy," he said, in a dark, mocking tone I had never heard from him.

I traced a line from his wrist to his shoulder with one finger. "I don't understand why this upsets you."

"He is a fool!" he spat, an ember of rage in his eyes. "Paris has none of the qualities of an ambassador. My father wants to send him, on behalf of Troy, to negotiate treaties with other kings. Tell me, can you imagine Paris calmly spending days dealing with kings?"

I imagined Hector's new brother impatiently discussing trade routes with stubborn kings, and felt nauseous.

"No. My dear brother has little knowledge of politics," he continued disgustedly. "And he has even less knowledge of diplomacy and court behavior. How will he know what is best for Troy, when he has spent most of his life in the mountains? And will he be polite and firm when a negotiation does not go his way? His temper will get the best of him, and we will end up with more enemies than we have now."

"Your father is an intelligent man," I argued, though now I was less sure. "He will not send him off without training and help."

"He is instructing him on the details before he leaves," Hector replied, his voice a low growl. "But his first mission will not be easy, and even with a lifetime in Trojan court I doubt he would be prepared. He is going to Sparta, to discuss the problem of trade."

I knew enough about Trojan control of the Hellespont, and all trade to and from India and Egypt, to understand the enormity of the situation. However, I did not know anything of a specific situation involving Sparta. "What did Sparta do?"

"Sparta has always resented us for our location," Hector said simply. "They hate the ship fees they have to pay, and the control we have over Eastern goods. But ever since King Menelaus came to power, they have given us more problems. He is the brother of the High King of Mycenae, and they have joined together in an attempt to force us to lower our ship fees, and perhaps trade more with them."

"What sort of attempts?"

"Two years ago Spartan ships rammed two of our warships, trying to get through the strait without paying the fee. Our ships caught up, of course, and we exacted a suitable price." I shuddered a little, wondering how gruesome this payment had been. "They have not been so foolish since, but they do attack smaller shore towns in the Troad."

I was beginning to understand the graveness of the situation. "Have you tried to negotiate before?"

"Only casually. Both nations are too stubborn to reach a suitable agreement."

"But your father trusts that Paris can accomplish something," I concluded, doubt seeping into my voice. "I hope Oenone can convince him to stay.

"He will not give up a chance to appear important," Hector sighed. "He will not think twice about leaving his wife to pursue a chance at recognition.'

I rose to extinguish the torches. Night settled in, as heavy as our thoughts. Already Paris had proven that he was not the man we first thought him to be, and now Troy's relations with Sparta rested in his hands. However, I still clung to the hope that he would return a better man, or, in truth, simply a man at all. Perhaps he would make a fine ambassador for Troy. And if he did not, Aeneas could salvage the situation.

We never dreamed that Paris could do so much damage.


	27. A Wooly Adventure

A/N: I'm sorry about not updating in April—it was a hectic month. To make up for it, I'll update twice in June--I've already started on the next chapter. Thanks for being patient with me!

Also, this story started a LONG time ago, so I'm going to start going back to early chapters and making some revisions. I was planning on only doing minor revisions, but I re-read chapters 2-5 got the urge to print them out and rip them up. Looks like the changes to those chapters will be pretty drastic. I'll let you know.

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Chapter Twenty-seven: A Wooly Adventure

Paris embarked upon his ill-fated voyage a month after Oenone shared the news of her pregnancy. I clasped my friend's hand tightly as we stood in the crowded harbor, our eyes locked on the departing vessel. Priam had offered one of his finest ships for the frivolous mission. It had fresh sails, newly painted with a tall horse, symbol of Troy. The figurehead was a carving of Aphrodite herself, clinging to the boat while her hair streamed behind her.

Decked in a panther skin that seemed too fine for sailing, Paris shouted his farewells as the ship eased into the rushing Hellespont. I knew he and Oenone had shared a tender farewell before he set foot on the ship, but I felt a spark of anger at his nonchalance. When he waved to his wife, did his mistresses wave back? I hoped fervently that his time away from Troy would increase his love for his wife and unborn child.

Oenone stared at the ship until it was nothing more than a glimmer on the horizon, and then turned her back on it with a sigh. "How long until he returns?" she asked Hector timidly.

He smiled reassuringly and took her arm. "He'll return before the birth of the little prince or princess." He offered his other arm to me and began a measured stride through the crowd, which parted before him. "In the meantime, would you like to wander the marketplace? An Egyptian merchant set up a stall just yesterday."

I appreciated my husband's efforts to distract Oenone on that difficult day. Instead of standing to the side, he accompanied us to every stall we visited, exclaiming over the various goods. He even bought us each a hair ornament, lined with tiny black pearls. Oenone seemed to be in a lighter mood when we finally arrived back at the citadel, but I knew it would not last. Within a few weeks, I expected she would miss her husband terribly, and we would not be able to do anything to distract her.

I raised the issue to Hector later, after Oenone had retired. He and Aeneas were in the training courtyard, engaged in a playful bout of swordplay. I knew the two had been trained in the art of war together from a young age, but until I saw them fight each other, I did not realize how similar their movements were. Later, on the battlefield, I would see the differences, but when they faced each other, their practice quickly disintegrated to a game. Each would use complicated moves and their own cunning in an attempt to outwit the other. It was a joy to watch.

"It will take more than pretty hair ornaments to distract Oenone from missing her husband," I said when there was a break in the fighting. Hector reached for a goblet of well-watered wine and took a healthy gulp. Aeneas hung back, studying his badly scuffed wooden sword.

"I don't plan on buying her out of her misery," Hector replied, panting. "It was a gift. It will do nothing to ease her loneliness, but she admired it at the marketplace."

"If she is lonely, send her to me," Aeneas jested, his sapphire eyes sparkling merrily. Hector glared and turned toward me again, only to have his cousin pounce on him. He ducked out from under Aeneas' weight and spun away, then yelped as he narrowly avoided a well-aimed thrust toward his groin.

"Clever," he conceded. "A pity you have to attack me from behind, instead of facing me bravely."

"I doubt even you could take her mind from Paris," I tried to redirect the conversation, but both men were too involved in their mock fight to respond.

Roguish grin splitting his face, Aeneas disengaged his blade and swept behind his opponent, lifting his sword to bring the pommel crashing down on his shoulder. Hector was too fast for him, though. He leapt to the side, leaving one leg between Aeneas' feet, and pushing him so he fell over his leg and ended up sprawled in the dirt, with Hector's blade at his throat.

"And you accuse me of being a dishonest swordsman," he muttered. Smiling triumphantly, Hector reached down to help him up. As soon as he regained his feet, he jabbed an arm behind Hector's knees, and he collapsed, landing heavily on the ground.

"You are dishonest!" he cried indignantly, shooting to his feet. He landed a light hit on Aeneas' wrist and advanced rapidly.

"Perhaps if she had some task to occupy her time?" I said desperately, raising my voice to be heard over the dull rhythm of the swords. "Would you teach her to ride a horse?"

"She doesn't like the beasts any more than you do, love," Hector countered, ducking a swing from his cousin and managing to send his blade sailing across the courtyard. It clattered to a halt near my feet. "Ha!" my husband bellowed, his smile as contagious as a child's. "If these blades were real, you'd be missing an arm!"

"If these blades were real, you would be lacking something much more important than an arm," Aeneas retorted. "Andromache, dear, would you throw that back to me? I'd like to decapitate your husband now."

I obediently stooped and gingerly picked up the sword, which was heavier than I expected. Over Hector's protests, I tossed it at far as I could. It landed an embarrassing distance in front of Aeneas.

"You still can't use that arm," Hector grumbled, but a downward look from Aeneas made him rethink his words. After only a slight pause, Aeneas attempted to stab Hector's knee, and then there was no stopping the mock fight than ensued.

"You haven't answered my question," I called, frustrated. "How can I distract Oenone?"

"There's always weaving to be done--aye!" Aeneas replied, his voice becoming shrill when Hector's blade brushed his ribs. Picking up my skirts with a heavy sigh, I left the men to their games. I would not waste my time begging them for suggestions such as _weaving!_

Yet the very next morning, I found myself following Aeneas' advice. As I walked to Oenone's manor, I told myself I was foolish. Our friendship was built during long, lazy afternoons in which we chatted, visited temples or the marketplace—anything to avoid weaving!

When I saw her, I knew I was doing the right thing. Paris had been gone a day, and already she looked grief-stricken. If the shadows under her amber eyes were any indication, she had not slept well that night. I beckoned her to come outside, but with a glance at her nightshift, I pushed her back in the door. "Get dressed," I commanded. "We must go to the marketplace."

"We went yesterday," she argued, but she returned to her chambers. Minutes later, she reappeared, wearing a simple gray gown that added to her gloomy demeanor. I ushered her out the door, and toward the path that led to the lower levels of the city. After a moment's hesitation, I turned back to her house and asked a guard to accompany us. I was fairly sure I knew the way to the marketplace, but I did not want to risk getting lost again when we had so much work to do.

"What are you looking for?" Oenone asked when we arrived. I scanned the colorful stalls before plunging into the crowd. Clinging to my sleeve, she followed, darting around the other customers. "Andromache, what do you wish to buy?"

If I told her of my plan, she would surely tell the guard to take her home immediately. Or ask him to bring the royal physician to examine my head. "You'll see," I replied airily, standing on my toes. In the distance, I could just make out lengths of vibrant cloth. I headed in the direction of that stall.

When we reached it, I sighed with relief. Below the completed cloths were enormous baskets of wool, ready to be washed and spun. I sank one hand into a basket, feeling the wool. "Tell me what you think," I said, turning to my friend. Looking only mildly bewildered, she stroked the wool.

"It's very soft," she said, puzzled. "But you have baskets of unused wool at home."

"The type I have is too coarse." I signaled to the shopkeeper, a withered old man with a warm, toothless smile. "It's meant for making sails, but nothing finer. It won't do for the garments I have in mind." I pointed to two baskets, one smaller than the other. "How much?"

The shopkeeper's price was a little steeper than I had expected, but I did not want to haggle with the kindly man. I paid what he asked with six coins from my leather purse. I balanced the smaller basket on my hip, leaving the other for our guard, who did not appear to be terribly pleased with his new task.

"That's quite an abundance of wool," Oenone said, eyeing the baskets worriedly. "What sort of garment do you have in mind? It can't be time to clothe the statues in the temples again."

I hurried to erase the alarmed expression from her face. "No, not that. But you will be helping me with these garments." The shock did not fade, so I conjured what I hoped was an enthusiastic smile. "I thought we could make garments for your babe. Blankets and robes, all of the softest cloth."

Her chin quivered dangerously, and I worried that I had said something drastically wrong. Had she lost the child? But in the next moment she flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace.

"You are too kind," she cried.

"It is nothing," I replied hurriedly. "The child will need clothes, and you should not have to weave them alone."

She pulled away, and I saw tears in her wide eyes. "It's not only these garments," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. Silently, I prayed she would not remind me of our old belief that we would have children at the same time. I did not want to resent my niece or nephew, but if I could not forget the child I had hoped for, I feared I would become bitter.

Thankfully, Oenone held her tongue. "You loathe weaving," she reminded me instead.

"You hate it as much as I do. But this will be different," I promised. It was.

It was too late to visit the Scamander that day, but we agreed to rise early so we could wash the wool in the river. I suppose we could have had a servant do the task, but we both liked the idea of completing the garments from start to finish on our own. We would have to experiment with dyes, and with our weaving skills it could take ages to finish even the simplest blanket. It seemed that our project could easily take up all our free time until Paris returned.

Hector smiled teasingly when I stumbled out of bed the next morning. "I never thought I would see my wife so eager to begin her weaving."

"It isn't only mine," I countered. "The little prince or princess should have fine garments."

"Then perhaps someone else should be weaving them." He caught the pillow I threw at him, and pointed to a miniscule tangle toward the edge of it. "See! A flaw!"

I told Oenone of Hector's jest as we walked to the river. It was a perfect day to spend outside. The sun warmed our skin and the ground beneath our feet, but it had not yet reached the point of being uncomfortably hot. The light danced on Oenone's honey-brown hair, and made her pale skin almost glow. "We'll make the most beautiful clothes any babe has ever worn," she announced defiantly. "If we work slowly enough, we can avoid flaws."

It pleased me to see her enthusiasm growing. As we approached the sparkling, warm waters of the Scamander, I found that I was excited as well—about weaving, of all things! I pointed toward the shallowest segment of the river. It was no higher than my thigh, and the current was not dangerously strong. With effort, I took the largest basket from our guard, the same sullen man who had accompanied us the day before. After handing the small basket to Oenone, he shuffled toward the shade a distant tree offered, leaving us to our task.

Which we only had the vaguest idea of how to complete.

After staring at the overwhelming amount of wool, Oenone placed her hands on her hips and contemplated the rushing river. "I think we should clean it all at once," she suggested.

I had my doubts, but I followed her lead, scooping an armful of the fleece and walking closer to the shore. Crouching, she submerged her load in the water, scrubbing vigorously to dislodge sticks and dirt. I knelt and did the same.

"It isn't so hard," she said, satisfied. I felt differently. It seemed as though my cloud of wool had more debris. I was so focused on removing the marks of dirt from one spot that I did not notice the force of the current gradually tearing the wool apart.

"Hold on to the end!" she warned, but it was too late. With a final tug, the Scamander made off with my fine wool. The current gurgled cheerily as it whipped the fleece around the bend.

"No!" I shouted. Our guard did not wake from his nap. I tugged off my sandals, keeping a sharp eye on the escaped wool.

"You'll never catch it!" Oenone exclaimed, laughter in her voice. Lifting my cumbersome skirt, I marched into the water. The bundle of fleece was not so far ahead. It floated on the slower current, near the shore. I stepped toward it as quickly as I could, but it was difficult. The smooth rocks beneath my feet kept slipping when I put my weight on them, and the current urged me forward. Admittedly, I was doing a fair amount of splashing, and my disruption of the water pushed the wool away from me repeatedly.

"Andromache," Oenone called, but I would not let her interfere with my mission. Finally, the fleece was within my grasp! I leaned forward, standing on my toes and stretching my fingers as far as I could. I was so intent on grabbing my prize that I did not concentrate on where my feet were. A slick stone shot out from under me when I placed my feet on it. Water poured into my mouth as I shrieked, falling backward.

It was not difficult to regain my footing, only to keep my dignity. I raked my wet hair away from my face, removing a grimy riverweed that had found a home in my locks. Gasping for breath, I ignored Oenone's hysterical laughter and saw what I sought: the bundle of wool was draped over a large rock. I plucked it up and turned back, with as much decorum as I could muster.

"I believe it's clean now," I called, cautiously plotting a path back to where my friend was, doubled over with mirth. One of her shaking hands pointed toward the river. I saw a flash of white on the current and could not quell my feeling of dread.

"Andromache?" Oenone choked out, meeting my eyes. "I dropped mine as well!"

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Thanks for reading; I'd love to know what your thoughts are on this chapter! 


	28. Masking Concern

A/N: The thing about summer is that even when you have free time, you end up spending it with friends. While that's fun, it certainly doesn't leave much time for writing! I'm sorry I've neglected this story, but I'm back now and I'll update as frequently as I can. Thanks for your continuing support.

There have been some changes; as I mentioned before I'm revamping the earlier chapters. Chapter 2 has been completely redone, and Chapter 26 has been changed, as far as Paris' reasons for going to Sparta. I would recommend rereading both, or you may be confused. Hey, technically this is a double update, with a completely new second chapter and this one. Hopefully the next few updates will be accompanied by revamped early chapters.

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Chapter Twenty-eight: Masking Concern 

Despite the disastrous start to our project, the weaving of the baby's garments did not give us much difficulty once we finished the early stages. Against the advice of every maid in the palace, Oenone and I insisted on dyeing the wool ourselves. When we cleverly attempted to mix the dyes, the resulting colors were atrocious. Luckily, we used only small portions of the fleece on our experiments, so not much was wasted on a yellow brown color, a sickly orange, or a shocking pink. Eventually we decided on pure dyes, and ended up with wool of a deep rust color, the traditional Trojan azure, pale sage green, and dark crimson. We then settled into the easiest part of our project: spinning the wool into thread. We spent hours each day in the shade of the trees in the courtyard, chatting and spinning. Occasionally we made mistakes and the thread varied in thickness, but for the most part, it was a simple task we hardly had to think about. While our hands worked the fleece, our minds wandered, and we shared our thoughts. Sometimes we worked in comfortable silence; more often, we talked for hours. We discussed our childhood, our marriages, our fears, and our future. I had never imagined having a friend as close as Oenone.

We did not deliberately avoid the topic of Oenone's pregnancy, but in the early months the subject never arose. We were still making thread, not baby garments, and Oenone was as thin as ever. I no longer felt grief or self-pity when I thought of the child, but I did not allow myself to dwell on such thoughts, for they would inevitably lead to Hector and the brief sadness he had shown. I was beginning to accept the idea of this child, unborn and somewhat ghostlike, but I could not yet think of it as my niece or nephew. Oenone must have been overwhelmed with excitement, but she said little of her babe, undoubtedly giving me more time to become comfortable with the notion.

The one topic we did avoid was Paris' journey as ambassador. Oenone knew very little of Trojan politics, but she knew her husband well enough, and she must have known that he would be a poor representative for Troy. Still, she said nothing and seemed unconcerned, and this amazed me. Perhaps it was only because Hector shared his worries with me, but I fretted over the situation. Every evening, I found myself wondering if Paris had made progress with the negotiations that day, or if he had offended the Spartan king and created more problems.

True to his nature, Hector did not publicly speak a single word against his brother, or his father's decision. Even when members of his family criticized the mission, he remained unswervingly loyal to the brother he had known for so short a time. He addressed their fears and mollified them, reminding them that Priam believed Paris was capable of negotiating the treaty. Only with me would he admit his doubts, and even then he tried to be optimistic.

"He is not the best person for the job," he admitted. "But he will be eager to prove his worth as the newest prince. I think he will treat the assignment with care."

We were in the garden with Troilius, whom Hector had stolen away from his nurse. The boy could walk without stumbling, and had mastered a small vocabulary. "Horsey!" he commanded now, and Hector obediently lowered himself to his hands and knees on the grass. Scooping the child up, I placed him on his brother's back, earning a charming, gap-toothed grin. He grabbed a handful of Hector's olive-colored tunic to steady himself before ordering, "Faster!"

"I hope you are right about your brother," I commented, watching the crown prince of Troy obey his two-year-old brother's commands. "I am worried."

"Do not concern yourself over something that may not be a problem," he advised.

"Horsey can't talk!" Troilius announced, and Hector neighed reluctantly, eliciting a giggle from the boy.

"Hold on tighter or you'll fall when horsey goes fast," I called as Troilius loosened his grip on the soft fabric. Something felt odd. Hector and I rarely spent time with the boy alone. When he was not with his nurse, he was being passed around to his many relatives. Even when Hector relieved his nurse for an afternoon, we shared him with—

Cassandra.

"Why isn't she here?" I blurted out, then clarified my words when my husband halted his rapid crawl to shoot me a puzzled look. "We usually take your brother to visit Cassandra."

"She has been spending her days at the temple," he said, following his words with a whinny when Troilius poked an insistent finger between his shoulder blades. His confused expression had been replaced with one of guilt. Cassandra was serving in Apollo's temple, but I had the sense that if she had been in the palace, he still would not have visited her.

"You are not avoiding her, are you?" I asked. Hector loved his sister, and he was the only member of his family that respected her despite her outbursts.

He looked thoughtful and somewhat ashamed. "I would not avoid her if she were here, no," he replied. "But my sister is too insightful sometimes. I would not avoid her, but I would not want to hear what she had to say about this journey or--" he faltered, and I knew that the words on his tongue had been 'their baby.' "Or anything else," he finished lamely.

Troilius squirmed and pouted, patting his brother's back with his hands. "Go faster," he pleaded, giving Hector a chance to look away. He resumed his steady crawl, being careful not to jostle the child. At once I was overcome with the urge to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and promise him that Paris would negotiate his treaty and that someday, we would have our child.

Instead I watched Troilius laugh and cling to his mighty steed, and I decided to banish all doubt from my mind, for as long as I could. When Hector declared that horsey was tired, I swept the boy off his back, lifting him to the sky and then covering his face with kisses.

"He must be weary," Hector commented, brushing the dirt from his knees. I cradled his giggling brother close and raised an eyebrow.

"It seems like the horse is more weary than the rider."

"The rider put forth no effort," he countered. "The horse did all the work."

"True enough," I conceded. His gaze lingered a moment too long on my face, with my cheek pressed against the child's soft hair. He swallowed heavily and looked away, choking out distracted words.

"How is Oenone faring?"

"She is well, although she misses Paris." I reached with my free arm to clasp his hand, possessed by a desperate boldness. "Hector, we will have our child."

Either he was not accustomed to being soothed, or my knowledge of his concern startled him. "I am not worried," he said defensively. "We will have Oenone's child to spoil."

I said nothing, only lightly bounced Troilius in my arms so he would not grow bored and cry for his horsey. Gradually, Hector's expression softened, and he came closer to stroke my hair.

"There will be plenty of time for children," he assured me, his voice gentle. In a matter of minutes, I had gone from comforting him to being comforted!

"Of course. I am not concerned," I said, my voice equally mild.

He smiled warmly. "I'm glad," he stated, carefully extricating his brother from my arms and placing him on the ground. "Now, shall we play Theseus and the Minotaur?"

"I'm Theseus!" Troilius squealed with excitement. "I am!"

Hector started to speak but I interrupted. "You make a far more fearsome Minotaur than I ever could."

He shook his head in protest, but Troilius charged at his legs with a piercing battle cry. I stepped back to watch my brave husband admit defeat to his baby brother, trying hard to forget our stilted conversation.

Though I claimed to be unconcerned about our childlessness, I could not idly wait for the gods' blessing. And so every day for the next few weeks I journeyed secretly to Hera's temple, to propitiate her with offerings and prayers. I fervently believed that the goddess would grant me a child, and eventually, it seemed that my daily visits had won her favor.

Now, though, I cannot help but ask myself what I did wrong.

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I would really appreciate feedback, as this story will be approaching a turning point soon. Thank you so much for reading, and I promise an update soon. 


	29. A Blessing Foretold

A/N: New penname, same old me. I was sick of the other name.

Chapter Three had been redone and the fourth is in the works. Check those out—I'm trying for a complex romantic plot and I'd love to know what you think! Thanks to **Gaslight** for her help on this chapter. It would have remained neglected for many more months without her reassurance.

Please remember that this is very much a work in progress, and I am constantly re-doing it and searching for new ideas for future chapters. I appreciate your support, especially when inspiration completely abandons me. I'll be working on this story as much as possible, but most work will probably done in May, when I'm working on it for 6 hours a day as part of a senior project. Thank you so much for continuing to read, even when I get behind on updates.

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Chapter Twenty-nine: A Blessing Foretold

Nearly a month later, Oenone and I had made more progress on her unborn child's garments than either of us had expected. One drafty afternoon, we proudly folded our completed lengths of sage green cloth. Oenone's satisfied smile did not deter from the exhaustion in her eyes or the weary curve of her shoulders. Pregnancy had already taken its toll on her, leaving her in a constant state of exhaustion. I wished Paris were home to ease her discomfort.

"Sleep, sister," I ordered her gently. "You need more rest."

She shook her head. "There is weaving to be done."

"There will still be weaving when you awaken. Rest for a few days and we will continue." When she continued to protest, I firmly took the cloth from her hand and attempted a pleading expression. "You know how I loathe weaving. Let me have a brief respite."

She reluctantly agreed, and the next morning she did not make an appearance in the weaving chambers. I had the entire day to do as I pleased, and I could think of nothing to do. Hector, Aeneas, and Deiphobus had left early that morning to hunt in the hills, hoping to return that evening with birds or a boar. Laodice had taken to shooting coy glances at any handsome men she saw, so Hecuba spent much of her time looking after her alluring daughter. With some hesitation, I decided to see if Cassandra had returned from the temple.

I made my way to her isolated chambers at a leisurely pace, feeling ashamed at the fact that I was always somewhat afraid of my friend, and the truths she knew. When her disgruntled servant opened the door before I knocked, the eerie feeling grew.

"She's expecting you," the maid informed me, leading me to her bedchamber. Cassandra herself threw open the door and stared intently at me for a moment, looking as though she desperately wanted to speak. Finally she swallowed her words and wrapped me in a tender embrace.

"I have missed you," she murmured, and I was struck by how conventional our meeting was. Normally she spouted out some uncomfortable truth before I had a chance to greet her. "I do not blame you for neglecting to visit me, after the way I acted last time."

"You did nothing," I assured her as we stepped into her room. The windows were open wide, and she looked healthier than she had the last time I saw her. She was still pale, and too thin, but there was no dirt or an oversized gown to mask her haunting beauty. Her hazel eyes were striking against her soft, almost translucent skin, and her hair shone like polished wood streaked with sun and fire. I remember thinking what a pity it was that her foresight would likely scare off most suitors.

"I frightened you with my talk of Paris' fate," she acknowledged.

A glimmer of hope was born inside me as I remembered her casual prediction that the newest prince would spill the blood of Trojans. "Is it untrue?"

A brief but unyielding hardness overtook her stunning features. "It matters not," she said quickly. "Nothing I say is of any importance. Whether I speak of my predictions or not, they will come to pass, and there is simply nothing to be done."

I did not like the idea that we were all victims of an irrevocable destiny, and she was the only witness to the fates' plans. "Perhaps a person's fate may change over the course of their lives."

My determined optimism did not faze her. Her doubtful eyes said it all: there was so much that I would never comprehend. "Perhaps," she said lightly. "Tell me, how have you spent your time lately?"

I told her of weaving baby garments for Oenone, watching Hector play with Troilius, and in a moment of weakness, of my daily visits to Hera's temple. Instantly, a cryptic half-smile played on her face and she averted her gaze.

"What?" I asked. "Surely a priestess cannot fault me for reminding the gods of my predicament?"

"It is not that," she assured me. "Though you complain so much when it comes time to weave for the temples, that I did not imagine you as a fervent devotee."

She fell into a silence, clearly at war with herself. She swallowed heavily, as if to keep one of her outbursts firmly contained. I admired her strength, but felt uncomfortable and somewhat powerless. Here my sister struggled with a curse from the gods, while I concerned myself with daily palace life. I wandered to the window, looking out over the white stone houses below us.

"The sun does not shine as brightly as it did yesterday," I commented. "I dread the impending winter."  
"There is nothing to fear this winter," she replied, crossing to where I stood. She stared at me unabashedly. "Very well," she sighed, to me or some unseen thing, I did not know.

Clinging to proper, polite behavior, I continued my meaningless chatter. "Troilius has gotten so big! He can speak well now, although he struggles over 'Andromache.' He calls me A-ma-ma-ke instead, and I must admit I'll be sad when he can pronounce it correctly."

"Andromache is more difficult," she agreed. "Tell me, what will you name your son?"

Immediately tears sprang to my eyes, followed by a sense of childishness. I imagined Hector's discomfort at dealing with weepy women, and felt a bit better. I could not allow myself to become so sensitive that the mere mention of the child I craved sent me into dark doubt. "I have not thought of names," I said brightly. "I imagine Hector would want to name a boy Tros or Ilios; something that commemorates the fathers of Troy."

"That would become confusing over time," she said airily. "It is pretentious to name ones child after heroes, is it not? If they achieve some great feat it could very well be attributed to the original hero, and they will be lost. Perhaps a variation of the name would work, if Hector is set on it. Maybe Dardanus or Laomedon, though he was an awful ruler."

"No heroes, then," I agreed readily, unwilling to think of a name for the babe I was not sure I would ever bear. "I'll remember your advice if I bear a little prince."

I should have said when, but without thinking, I had betrayed my doubt. Cassandra faced me, her face mild, almost expressionless. "If?"

"I only meant that I do not know when I'll have this son."

Even now, over fifteen years later, I can see the faintest trembling of her lower lip and the rapid blinking that enabled her to retain her composure. Her next words were enough to put the curious detail out of my mind.

"Seven moons from now," she informed me tonelessly.

I felt as though a bolt of pure flame had flashed through me, making it difficult to breathe and speak. She patted my hand absently, clearly unaffected by the puzzling euphoria and relief that overwhelmed me. "Run along and tell someone, then," she said. "Hector will not return until nightfall, and you cannot contain yourself for that long."

"A son?" I shrieked, beyond caring that I was not behaving as a princess should. I stumbled around the room, unable to stand still. "I'm carry Hector's son?"

"I imagine you had some part in this as well." She would not face me or share in my joy. She leaned her body out the window and stared at the sky, contemplating the sun. "You should tell Oenone and ease her guilt. Hector will not mind that you told her first."

"Cassandra…" My hands had found their way to my belly, already protective of the life they had been oblivious to minutes before. "I cannot thank you enough."

She waved a hand at me, still avoiding my eyes. I strode from the room as quickly as I dared, even allowing a laugh to escape my lips when I was utterly alone. "A son," I chanted, over and over. The mere promise of a child was enough, I was sure, to ease my mind forever. I could not imagine feeling grief or doubt again.

Nor could I keep my joy to myself. For a moment I contemplated spending the entire day in blissful silence, enjoying the weight of my secret. But Cassandra had known before me, and I knew I did not have the restraint to keep quiet until my husband returned from his hunt. I had to tell Oenone.

I felt a bit guilty as I burst into her bedchamber. She lay peacefully across her wide bed, with one hand curled near her cheek and her lips parted. I could have waited until she woke up, I lamented as I flew toward her, or at least woken her gently. But I had already landed on her bed, startling her to complete awareness. She yelped in fear, crossing her arms over her torso, before recognizing me.

"By the gods, Andromache, you have lost your mind!" she gasped, shoving me. "There is no reason to wake me so abruptly--" Stricken, she met my eyes. "Is there news of Paris?"

"It is too soon for him to return, sister," I reminded her gently, feeling a true rush of guilt as her face fell. "But if he sends any message, I will ask Hector to alert you immediately."

"What, then?" I wondered if it was pregnancy or sheer exhaustion that morphed her usually mild disposition to irascibility. "First you command me to rest instead of weaving, and then you disrupt my sleep!"

Chuckling, I threw my arms around her shoulders. "I am glad you enjoy weaving so much, Oenone. We shall have to make even more baby garments."

All traces of irritation left her soft face as comprehension took over. I was overcome with a rush of love for my friend; only she could catch on so quickly. "Oh, Andromache!"

I could hardly keep from shrieking. "Cassandra predicted a son, due seven months from now."

"A son!" Her bright grin mirrored my own as she rose to her knees to embrace me. It was refreshing to see her happy for the first time since Paris had left. "Our babes will be born only be two months apart!" she squealed, as giddy as I was. "Can you see us growing fat together, and watching our children play in the courtyard?"

"They can learn to fight together, and argue over the same maidens," I laughed. "Or if you have a daughter, she can advise my boy on matters of women. Oh, I cannot believe I am to follow you into motherhood so soon!"

"The gods are too kind," she said. Though I remember that entire day very well, it is these words that I can recall so vividly, nearly two decades after they were uttered. I wish I could summon the memory of Cassandra's eerie expression and Hector's stunned elation as well as I can evoke the exact tone of those five ironic words.

But at the time, I fully believed them. We blathered on about the years to come as Oenone left her bed, claiming she was too excited to go back to sleep. As she dressed, we tried to decide on something that would hasten the hours until Hector returned. I was far too distracted to brave the marketplace, and I knew I could not face any members of the royal family without blurting out my news. Weaving left too much room for thought. Finally, we decided to visit Hera's temple to make an offering of thanks. When we had completed that task, we surrendered to inactivity and lounged in the courtyard, enjoying one of the last warm days before winter struck.

"Paris will be so pleased to learn that he will be an uncle as well as a father," Oenone mused, and a sharp pang cut through the haze of bliss that enveloped me. She could not forget him, even when he was across the sea, undoubtedly focused on matters other than his pregnant wife.

"I cannot imagine two babes wreaking havoc on the palace," I joked. "Three, if you count Troilius, though I think of him more as a child now. Two babes, almost at once!"

Oenone shifted closer to me, the breeze lifting tendrils of her hair away from her face as my hair was blown across my eyes. "How will you tell Hector?"

I grinned, for that was what I looked forward to the most, aside from our child's birth itself. "I will take him to the Tower of Ilium, I think, and tell him there. He will be weary when he returns, but it is one of his favorite places."

"It will be perfect," she said.

By the time a maid announced his arrival to us a few hours later, though, I knew I could not endure the long trek to the tower while carrying the burden of my secret. I jumped to my feet, turning to my exhausted friend. "Go," she said. "Tell me of his reaction in the morning."  
I darted to our chambers, flinging open the door to see my husband unlacing his sandals. He did not look up; he had probably recognized the sound of my footsteps. "It will be a meager supper tonight," he informed me. "Deiphobus shot a pheasant, but Aeneas and I returned with nothing."

"Oh," I squeaked, causing him to look up. My expression must have been startling, for he abandoned his undressing at once.

"What is it?" The skin around his dark eyes crinkled in worry, and I wondered what words he expected to cross my lips. I reveled in my secret, for it would give me the power to lift his spirits for months, maybe years to come.

"You are going to be a father," I announced quietly, and the change was instant. His worried features relaxed into a beautiful smile, and he seemed to exude utter joy. Almost too quickly for me to see, he enveloped me in his arms, and through his tunic I could feel his heart beating even faster than my own. He said nothing, and after an entire day of blathering on about the future, I appreciated his silence.

A thousand words would have been appropriate, but none needed to be spoken.

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I know this chapter wasn't the best, but it's a start: I'm writing again. I promise to update more frequently. Thanks for your support, and I'd appreciate feedback! 


	30. A Lack of Movement

A/N: Chapter Four has been re-done and I really enjoyed writing it. It's a fun read! Chapter Five is in the works. I've found that it's much easier to update with new chapters if I can rework the old ones at the same time. When I get stuck on one, I can always switch to the other. Hopefully I can update more frequently this way!

Thank you for all the feedback on the last chapter. I'm sorry I didn't reply; my computer was out of commission with a virus and I never quite caught up.

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Chapter Thirty: A Lack of Movement

A wiser couple would have kept the news of their baby a secret, at least until it could not be easily concealed. They would revel in their private blessing. Hector and I were young and foolish, and the thought of keeping the news bottled up between the two of us was unbearable. After all, Cassandra and Oenone already knew of my pregnancy. My husband and I convinced ourselves that it was unfair to keep the good news from the rest of the family.

When Hector stood to make the announcement the next evening at supper, chatter died down rapidly. I marveled at my husband's ability to command attention so quietly, even in a crowded room. Gesturing for me to stand beside him, he slung one arm around my waist. With that simple action, I watched the expression of the women of the family change. I could see from Hecuba's relieved smile that she had pieced the story together, even without her son's words. Laodice grinned and whispered to Polyxena, and even the maidservants shot each other knowing glances. My smile was enough to convey the message to the women; Hector's announcement, it seemed, was purely for the men.

"We have some happy news," he declared, and I stopped myself from giggling at the discrepancy between the men and women in the hall. Creusa grinned broadly, already rising to congratulate us, while Aeneas merely looked expectant. "Andromache is carrying our child."

At last, the men caught on! Aeneas' grin was wide enough to split his face, and even Deiphobus looked pleased. I laughed as I was tugged away from Hector and into Laodice's warm arms. Hecuba glided across the floor to enfold her strong son in her arms, proving that despite his age and strength, she still thought of him as her precious boy. Priam clasped his hands together as if praying, and when he opened his piercing eyes I saw that they were flooded with tears. "The gods have blessed us," he said. "Two royal babes in the same year! We must show our gratitude."

I met Oenone's gaze as he continued. "We will have a feast in honor of Hera and Eileithyia."

I was told the feast was magnificent. The king spared no expense. There was an abundance of fresh boar meat, honey cakes, and dates. Wine flowed from dozens of amphorae, and a bard with a rich voice was brought in to tell the tale of Perseus and Andromeda—my favorite. Unfortunately, I was unable to experience the feast firsthand. I spent the hours of revelry locked in my chambers, curled around a bowl to catch my vomit.

I was rarely ill in my first pregnancy, for which I felt blessed. However, it seemed a cruel joke that although I felt fine that morning, I could barely move by mid-afternoon. I was afflicted with the same sickness that had plagued Oenone for months, and while mine only lasted a few days, I feared its continuation. I watched dully as Hector donned his finest robes. He had offered to stay, but was the use? It would be rude for both of us to miss a feast in our honor. "Let me bring you some honey cakes, or fruit," he said, pinning his cerulean mantle.

The thought of food tripled the intensity of my queasiness. "No!" I choked out, one hand clamped tightly over my mouth. Hector lowered himself to the bed, stroking my back with an uncertain hand. Here was the first sign of his guilt, which would haunt me throughout many months of pregnancy.

"My mother says this is normal," he murmured. I rolled away from his touch, too miserable to assuage his fears.

"Go," I ordered, and after a moment's hesitation he silently left the room. I rose to one elbow and retched until I was shaking. The midwife said I had eight more months of pregnancy to endure; Cassandra predicted seven. How, I wondered, would I survive?

As it turned out, I was only being melodramatic. I had a wonderfully easy pregnancy, of which Oenone was terribly jealous. While she fought constant nausea for almost four months, I was only afflicted with it sporadically, and for no more than a day at a time. When Oenone complained of cramps and an aching back, I was still able to move about unhindered. She appeared pale and sickly, while I was radiant. And from the moment her nausea ceased, it seemed that her child would never stop moving.

It was her babe's movement that caused her the most inconvenience. She told me she slept fitfully, waking a dozen times a night when the babe kicked at her ribs. Often she would pause in the middle of a conversation and press a hand to her belly. "Oh, do stop!" she cried once, when we were weaving blankets for the children on a drafty winter day. She tossed down her shuttle, exasperated.

"Let me feel," I said, crossing to where she crouched. Her belly had grown to enormous proportions, and I was amazed that her delicate frame could handle the added weight. She positioned my hand high on her stomach, where I could feel the rapid pounding of the child's limbs. "Your babe is eager to break free," I chuckled.

"I am eager as well! The child thinks nothing of its poor mother, waddling around with a feisty little fighter in her belly!" She frowned, but resumed her weaving. The midwife had examined her a few days earlier, and swore that she would only have to carry the child for two months more. With the birth of spring, she had said, Oenone would welcome her babe.

A few minutes later, Oenone's hands had stilled again. She stared longingly at the horizon. I stopped my work in the middle of a row and got to my feet with ease. At two months less pregnant than my friend, I had significantly less weight to bear. "Come," I said, helping her to her feet. "We will find Hector."

I knew my friend was both relieved and upset by the impending arrival of her child. She had not truly been healthy for almost seven months. Yet I felt that if she could delay the birth until Paris returned, she would do it without hesitation. Her husband had been gone for nearly half a year. While Hector claimed this was acceptable, if negotiations droned on, Oenone was not reassured. We rarely spoke of Paris, except when she was upset. I became an expert at spotting the agony she tried so hard to hide. When she spent more time looking toward the horizon than at her weaving, I took her to see Hector. Whether he was training horses or discussing ship fees with merchants, he would gladly pause, seeing that Oenone's need for comfort was greater than his duties. He would accompany us to the council room, where one wall was painted with a large map. With utmost patience, he would show Paris' route. He started with one hand where Troy was marked with a red dot, then traced his finger across the Aegean, navigating around the tiny islands, all the way to Sparta, which bore a faded green mark. Then he waited for Oenone's questions—and if there was a storm, here? —and reworked the journey as if several different crises had taken place, each time landing Paris unharmed in Sparta, and safely back at Troy. "There has been no word of shipwrecks," he would say in conclusion. "More likely, Paris is making some progress in the difficult negotiations. He is too smart to sail during the winter. I expect he'll return in early spring."

Normally, Hector's soothing presentation was enough to ease Oenone's mind for a week or two. On that day, though, she left the council room looking just as worried as she had before entering. My husband, oblivious to her mood, gave us a cheerful wave and headed back toward the stables. As soon as he was out of sight, I pushed her toward a bench. She lowered herself onto it with difficulty; I plopped down. "What is it?"

She massaged her brow with one pale hand. "You'll think it's foolish."

I waited.

"I dreamed that Paris fell in love with a woman in Sparta, and that is why he does not come home."

"Oh, Oenone." The words of comfort caught in my throat, trapped by her expression of pure misery. I did not doubt that Paris had found numerous ways to entertain himself, but I believed he would return to his wife and child. However, I could not voice my thoughts when comfort was what I aimed for.

"I am no princess, Andromache," she sighed. "Not naturally, at least. I am a simple girl from the mountains, daughter of a river priest. It is a wonder that I was able to capture Paris' attention at all. I cannot possibly hold my husband's affection from across the sea; not when there are plenty of pretty Spartan maidens to distract him."

I remembered Paris' most recent lover, the raven-haired maiden in the lower city. Oenone could not hold his attention in Troy, either, but the knowledge would kill her. I squeezed her bony hand soothingly, but I could not mask my hopelessness. What excuses could I make for Paris?

"He's had no training as an ambassador. Most likely he is unable to negotiate a treaty, and does not want to return home in shame. Perhaps he needs guidance," I said, surprised by how reasonable my lies sounded. Oenone looked dubious, but I blathered on. "Perhaps Priam will send someone more experienced to guide him."

At this, Oenone looked hopeful, and I wished I hadn't spoken. My idea was not unreasonable. Sailing in the winter was dangerous, but none of the princes would think twice about braving the choppy seas to impress the king. Priam would think nothing of sending one of his sons to aid Paris, especially when there was so little to do at the palace. I knew, however, that he would choose Hector. He had the most experience with negotiating; he had been groomed since childhood to be the perfect prince. Inwardly, I panicked. It was selfish, yes, but I could not bear the idea of enduring the rest of my pregnancy without my husband.

"I will speak to Hector, if you wish," I offered weakly. Who could go in his stead? Deiphobus would ruin whatever progress had been made, and Helenus was too young to be taken seriously. Hector would be reluctant to leave, but he certainly would not subject anyone else to sailing the irascible winter seas. Oenone's lips curled into a delicate, hopeful smile, and I desperately wished that I had not spoken.

"Will you speak to him?" she asked, sounding happier that she had in months. "Do you think Priam will truly send someone?"

Of course he would; it was surprising that I had thought of it first. Why had I blurted the terrible idea? "I'll find Hector." I sprung to my feet and paused to help Oenone stand. Promising to meet her at her manor, I set off in the direction of the stables, moving at a pace that was too leisurely even for a woman with child.

I was torn. Hector's explanations of Paris' route temporarily helped Oenone's worries; his joining Paris in Sparta would cure her entirely. She had been miserable since he left, and though I yearned to help her, I felt my stupid idea would only reverse the situation. Already, my stomach clenched at the thought of Hector being caught in a storm at sea. Catastrophic images flashed through my mind in devastating sequence: Hector's broad hand grasping at the ship's oars, his limp body sinking to the depths of Poseidon's realm, his corpse washing up on shore and being devoured by dogs. I could not raise our babe alone! A sob rose in my throat, and I did not bother to fight it. I see now that I embodied the idea of an irrational and emotional pregnant woman, but I could not calm myself.

As I trudged along at a tortoise's pace, tormenting myself with thoughts of various unlikely tragedies, I was nearly knocked to the ground by Aeneas. He dashed around the corner, turning sharply on his heel to avoid me. "Sorry!" he yelped, then glanced at my face. I must have been a hideous sight; my face has never hidden the signs of weeping well, instead turning a muted red and swelling. I attempted a smile and an acknowledgement, but all that escaped my knotted throat was a pitiful whimper.

To his credit, Aeneas did not flinch at my unbecoming state. In his typical courteous manner, he took my arm and led me to a secluded passage. He allowed my sobs to subside into gasps, and then asked me what was wrong, which unleashed another torrent of tears.

"Andromache?" he said, somewhat alarmed. I wiped at my eyes angrily.

"I'm a fool and my idiotic idea will get Hector killed."

His smooth brow furrowed. "I do not understand."

"Sailing in winter! If he is not killed there, surely Sparta will consume him as it did Paris! I do not see how the death of my husband will do anything to ease Oenone's pain!" I looked up at Aeneas' puzzled face, and a chuckle broke through my tears. Never had I seen the poor man look so panicked. I gulped in as much air as I could and tried again.

"Oenone thinks Paris does not return because he found some mistress in Sparta. I convinced her that he was simply having trouble negotiating, and told her I would speak to Hector about sending someone to help."

"That's a good idea," Aeneas congratulated me graciously.

"But you know as well as I that Hector will go! He knows the danger of sailing in winter, and he will not think of assigning anyone else the risk. And if the gods are with him and he does reach Sparta…" I trailed off, finally aware of how ludicrous my fears sounded when spoken aloud.

"If he does reach Sparta, he will not return in time for the birth of your child," Aeneas finished. "In fact, it is unlikely that he would meet the babe before it is able to crawl."

Stinging tears blurred my vision. "That's it exactly. Perhaps I am being absurd."

"No, your fears are well-founded," Aeneas said thoughtfully. He stared into my eyes for a long moment, then cleared his throat. "Do not go to him, Andromache. He will undertake the mission himself."

"I promised Oenone." And in the end, I knew I would regain my composure and make my request. He would not refuse. Indeed, he only refused one plea of mine in his lifetime. I had to place my best friend's needs in front of my fears and hope for the best; I am still convinced that despite my selfishness, I would have made the right choice.

By some miracle, however, Aeneas came to my rescue. He lifted his sapphire eyes skyward, and when he met mine again they were grave. "I will go."

That was not my intent. "Aeneas, no," I pleaded.

"I'll speak with Priam today. I've had almost as much experience with politics as Hector, and Troy can spare me for a few months."

I felt as if I was bathing in a pool of hot guilt. "Please, Aeneas. Do not go."

His smile returned, a weak and hopeful version of his usual charming grin. "Perhaps he will grant me Creusa's hand in marriage, if negotiations go well." He looked skyward again and his grin grew broader. "Yes, Andromache, this could be my chance." Shrugging off his mantle, he dabbed at my wet eyes. "Gods, woman, fix yourself! Hector will take one look at your lobster's face and swim after me to Sparta."

And so Aeneas took my burden, leaving me in a muddle of hope and guilt. Although he insisted on waiting a month, in case Paris returned, Priam did allow his mission, and as expected, dangled Creusa as a prize if the negotiations went as planned. I could not help but rejoice that I would be spared Hector's absence and the anxiety that filled his place in the palace. The morning of his departure, I embraced Aeneas with such fervency that he laughed and made a show of comforting me in front of my husband. "There, there, do not cry," he soothed heroically. "I will return as soon as I can, and Hector isn't so terrible."

"You mistake her, cousin. She is overwhelmed with joy at your departure," Hector jested, clapping his friend on the shoulder. In truth, it was a sickening blend of relief and sorrow; which Aeneas understood. He winked before boarding his ship, waved to the Trojans who had gathered to see him off, and left us. Hector kissed my hand and hurried off to a council meeting, and I set off toward Oenone's manor.

Her belly had grown so large that the midwife ordered her to stay in bed, and she did not protest. I was sure that her fragile spine would snap if she attempted to walk. When a maidservant ushered me into her bedchamber, it took a moment to recognize my friend under the crushing weight of her spherical stomach. But then her lyrical voice emerged from piles of blankets, strong as ever.

"Welcome, my spry friend."

I knelt so I was closer to her face. "By the time my babe is born, you will be thin again, with your adorable child in your arms. You will visit me in my bedchambers and pity my bulk."

"I cannot wait," she groaned.

I patted her hand and delivered the only news that would cheer her. "Aeneas left for Sparta today."

She was silent for a moment, calculating in her head. "How long will it take him to arrive?"

In the winter, it was impossible to guess. I shrugged and said no more. At that point, I think she accepted that Paris would not return in time for the birth of his child. She sighed heavily, and her breath was cut short by a gasp of pain. Her hand flew to her belly. "Enough kicking!" she chided futilely. We attempted to converse but she was too distracted by her babe's movements. I left with the promise to visit the next day, and hastened home.

Hector was waiting when I exploded through the door, both hands flattened against my belly. He must have recognized my footfalls, for he did not halt his pacing. "There is rumor that Sidon was sacked," he told me without looking in my direction. "A messenger claims that the king holds Troy responsible. We do not know how reliable this messenger is; he arrived today, delirious from seasickness. Perhaps it is a ploy—close the door, love, aren't you cold?" At this, he glanced at me. Upon seeing my grip on my belly, he halted his pacing and strode towards me, eyes fearful. "What is it?"

Instantly, I felt foolish. He was expecting blood on my skirts; undoubtedly, he feared I had miscarried, almost six months into my pregnancy. I dropped my hands to reassure him. "It is nothing," I assured him, even as he placed his hands where mine had just vacated. He did not believe me; he would not accept my excuses. I attempted a smile and surrendered.

"It's silly," I shrugged, but he did not avert his relentless stare. "It's just that Oenone's child never gives her any rest. The babe is always kicking."

Hector recoiled slightly, and dropped his hands back to his side, where they dangled uselessly. He knew my worry, but I had to continue, to act as if it was of no importance.

"And I've hardly felt our babe move at all."

His hands twitched almost imperceptibly. "It is probably too early," he said, questioning rather than affirming. I nodded and carefully lowered myself to the bed, with his help. He stayed at my side; I wished he would return to his pacing.

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	31. A Woman's War

A/N: Chapter 5 isn't quite done yet, mostly because I can't decide if I'm ready to start rewrites on 6-10 yet. It's shaping up to be a busy summer so I'll probably focus on current plot. Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter, it's always very much appreciated. This is one of those juicy, eventful chapters. Enjoy!

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Chapter Thirty-one: A Woman's War

While the winds of the Aegean did not bring Paris home in time for the birth of his child, they did finally bear rumors of his journey. Spies and messengers arrived from a variety of locations across Achaea, delivering contradictory messages. The Trojan crew had been spotted on the island of Cranae, just a week ago, one announced. Another swore the ships had encountered a storm before they ever reached Sparta, leaving no one alive. The rumors became increasingly absurd as the weeks wore on. Paris had single-handedly sacked Sidon. The angry husband of a maidservant killed him. He had abducted a queen. He was living in Egypt. He would be home within the week—no, the day. He was riding home on the back of an octopus and could spend several more years at sea.

Hector related this last message to me as we walked to the stables, at the break of dawn. With the constant flow of messengers and subsequent council meetings, he had had no time to visit his horses. He woke me before sunrise in hopes that the early hour would allow us uninterrupted time with the beasts. I hoped, for his sake and mine, that he would not be called to the palace to hear yet another ridiculous testament. He was like an excited child as he headed to the stables, walking quickly and then checking his stride so I could catch up. Finally, three months before the midwife predicted my babe would enter the world, I was experiencing difficulty moving. Oenone could not be more pleased.

"The messenger says it is a purple octopus, as big as a ship," Hector said, then paused when he realized I was a few paces behind him. "Somehow I cannot imagine Paris being any happier on an octopus than he is on a horse."

He had learned to disregard all news of his brother's journey, while I still attempted to sift through it in hopes that I would find something of value to tell Oenone. "Why would a messenger waste his time bringing the news if there is no truth in it?" I prodded. Hector kindly did not tease me for my gullibility.

"They are not all messengers," he said in a low voice. "Two of them did not bother to mask their Trojan accents, and this last one staggered in with wine stains on his beard. As for the true messengers, they would be fools to pass up the opportunity. We are desperate for news, and they are aware of it. They know, too, that my father is a generous man. He pays them for their trouble, with food and coins."

"You think there have been no truthful messengers."

He gave a wry smile. "Come, Andromache. Can you imagine Paris abducting a queen or sacking a city?"

I shook my head. "What do I tell Oenone, then?"

We reached the stall of a feisty black stallion, which stamped the ground viciously when Hector unlatched the gate. I backed away nonchalantly. "Tell her nothing," he said, using his smooth, hypnotically calm voice on both the horse and I.

"I cannot lie to my best friend."

"It isn't a lie. There has been no truthful news," he reminded me, slipping into the stall. The stallion did not cease his stamping, and used his sleek black head in an attempt to butt my husband out of his stall. Briefly, I hoped he would succeed, but I quickly banished the thought.

"You aren't listening. She is desperate for any word--" The stallion neighed fiercely, and Hector raised one hand to quiet me, placing the other on the horse's sinewy neck.

"Hush."

While only a few months ago, I teased Oenone for her irrational bursts of anger, I completely understood and supported them now. "Who are you silencing, me or the beast?" I asked shrilly, stomping one foot and creating a tiny cloud of dust. Hector turned to me, confused, an apology probably already forming at the base of his tongue.

"Or am I a beast now? Is it that you would rather spend your free moments with your precious horses than your equally enormous wife?" I was on the verge of tears, filled with a wild fury directed at my husband, who I had been so appreciative of only minutes before.

"Andromache?"

But I was already waddling away, moving as fast as I could while hindered by my bulging belly. "Off to gripe about me to Oenone, then?" he accused, and I nearly stopped. I had not considered that my time-consuming friendship might hurt him. "Will she be there for you when her husband returns?"

I further increased my speed, swinging my arms for momentum and frightening a stablehand. "Will she?" Hector called, but his voice retained the soothing quality that completely conflicted with his angry words. Of course he would do nothing to frighten his cherished horses, even in an argument.

When I stumbled to Oenone's door, panting and perspiring, I did not have to knock or wait to be led inside. A nervous young maidservant sprinted through the door and clasped both hands to her breast when she saw me. "You were sent by the gods!" she exclaimed, but I paid her no heed. I pushed past her to the bedchambers, using my bulk to fling open the doors impressively.

"My husband compared me to a horse!" I growled, but my anger rapidly converted to worry when my eyes lit upon Oenone's contorted face. Her amber eyes were unfocused, her fists clenched, as if to beat away her pain. I rushed to her side, screaming to the maid. "Fetch the midwife!"

The only response was the rustling of hasty feet in the distance. Oenone drew a desperate breath and loosened her hands. "Hector called you a horse?" she questioned.

I shook my head. "It does not matter now." If she was frightened, she did not show it. She pushed her soaked sheets to the ground with her feet and propped herself up on her pillows.

"There is no chance of Paris returning, is there," she stated dryly.

Biting my lip, I brushed a tendril of hair from her brow. "They say he is crossing the Aegean on the back of a purple octopus."

She considered for a moment, her white hands curling. "Perhaps the wind will carry the sound of my screams to him!" By the time she completed her thought, she was in the grips of a contraction, and her last words escaped her lips as strangled shrieks.

The midwife could not be found. A very frustrated Hecuba, then Laodice, Creusa, and Polyxena carried this message to us. "She will be peddling her skill on the streets by the time your babe arrives, Andromache," Hecuba vowed, her smooth pacing a more feminine version than the pacing of her eldest son. "I only wish we had time to recruit another midwife now."

Oenone gritted her teeth and did not respond. "There is no time. She will come," I answered for her. Polyxena quietly moved to the doorway to watch for her, while Creusa and Laodice appeared to be frozen by the level of tension in the room.

"What did Paris want to name the babe?" Laodice finally asked.

Oenone stared listlessly at the door. "He was supposed to return by now," she answered. "He never mentioned any names."

I hoped thoughts of her absent husband would not hinder her delivery.

"Then you will name the child yourself," Hecuba declared, her eyes fixed on the woman who would deliver her first grandchild within the day. "Paris has no say in the matter when he is across the sea."

Oenone frowned. "He may not like the name."

Hecuba halted her pacing, which did not make her any less intimidating. "He will love the child regardless. Now, what will you name the babe?"

I had to admire her tactic. As she gasped out various names, Oenone seemed to be distracted from her pain, and her breathing became more regular. I watched intently as she grappled with and briefly overcame agonizing pain. She held my hand in an unbreakable vise, her eyes unfocused, spouting out increasingly awful names. She had been blathering on for close to an hour, reaching "Ethylictopoculis," when the midwife hobbled through the door.

Hecuba was like a lioness, using pure restraint to toy with her prey rather than snap its neck immediately. "I hope you'll manage to fit the delivery of the king's first grandchild into your schedule," she snarled. Wisely, the midwife ignored her, lifting the gown of the dazed princess without warning.

"She's not ready," she proclaimed, as my friend let out a squawk of protest. The old woman shot the queen a look that indicated being present any earlier would have been useless. "We must wait a few more hours, at least."

It could have been minutes or years. Time fled that crowded room, edged out by Oenone's breathy sobs, the midwife's raspy voice, and Polyxena's nervous comments. Oenone never let go of me, and while I was honored to provide her with an anchor in her personal waves of agony, I was relieved when my hand succumbed to clammy numbness. Creusa dabbed at Oenone's brow with a wet cloth while Laodice busied herself with rinsing cloths in oil for the midwife. Hecuba and the midwife battled for authority, with Hecuba firing insults to make the wait bearable. Polyxena stayed by the wall, fear and confusion evident on her face. We waited. I remember thinking it was silly to wait when clearly, this exact event had been taking place for all of eternity and would surely continue forever, with different mothers who were entirely alike.

"It is time to push," the midwife informed us at some point. The sunlight was the only thing that had dared enter this cave of women. It lit upon the perspiration on Oenone's brow, illuminating the crown of every mother.

"Push!" Hecuba encouraged her. And we all chanted too, encouraging our sister in a muddle of mixed words. Her shrieks sliced through our clumsy ritual, sharp as a sacrificial knife. In response, we chanted louder, our voices melding together into a single voice, a solitary prayer, destroying the last traces of time and overthrowing any moment but that one, a primeval voice of women that rode the tail of our sister's screams, a terrible, ageless harmony, finally pierced by a commanding male cry.

"Welcome your son," the midwife said, holding up the battered, bluish thing that had broken the spell. Oenone loosed a small sob and reached for him. He squalled and kicked ferociously, as if unsure where to direct his fury at being born. His bloodied fists beat at the air and his tiny chest heaved as he expressed his discomfort in the only way he knew how.

I loved him immediately. A glance at his mother told me that she had never been happier; despite the pain of delivery and nine long months of consistent misery, she was overjoyed. She looked as though she would never unwrap her arms from his writhing body. "He is wearing a golden helmet," she crooned. Indeed, his fine golden hairs were plastered to his head in such a way that he resembled an absurdly tiny warrior. "I will call him Corythus," she announced. "Helmet. Even when he is a grown man, taller than his mother, he will bear the memory of his appearance in his first moments."

She allowed me to take him from her arms to wash him. Hecuba dismissed the midwife as soon as she delivered the afterbirth, leaving us to clean the new mother and son. I gently wiped the fluid from his limbs and he quieted somewhat, wriggling half-heartedly against my immense belly. "He is beautiful," I told my happy friend.

"I will tell the king," Hecuba offered, fondly stroking Oenone's hair. She took her daughters with her, leaving me alone with my best friend and new nephew.

"Perfect hands," Oenone remarked, holding his little fists against her palms. She tore her eyes away from her babe long enough to bless me with a genuine smile. "I cannot wait to introduce him to his father."

Even in his first moments, he resembled his father. His damp hair was the same hue as Paris' when the sun hit it, and his tiny lips had the same gentle curve. He would see the world through the same light eyes as his mother, though. "I must find Hector," I said apologetically. It should have been Paris marveling at the boy, not me.

"Come see us tomorrow," she requested. I left her still cradling her beautiful boy, all memory of her recent pain utterly erased.

It was not as late as I expected. I blinked in the harsh sunlight, one hand on my bulging stomach. The idea of searching for him was unbearably frustrating; just the thought of wandering about on tired feet compelled me to cry. Luckily, he was waiting.

"Andromache," he called softly, and I turned to see him leaning against the opposite wall. Any remaining anger I had dissolved as I waddled toward him, but I could not dissipate the tension that remained. He took my arm and did not complain when I leaned more of my weight than usual on him.

"She had a boy," I informed him. "She's calling him Corythus because his hair stuck to his head like a helmet."

"I know. Mother has asked me to formally acknowledge the child in Paris' place."

"Oh." How had I forgotten? The father of the child had to acknowledge the babe shortly after his birth in order for him to officially join the family. I had hoped that the first babe Hector recognized would be our own.

He sighed and adjusted his arm to take on more of my mass. "I will wait as long as I can, in case Paris returns." I nodded against his shoulder and his hand drifted to my stomach.

"Also," he said, clearing his throat, "I would never compare you to a horse."

"I apologize for overreacting--"

"For one thing, your neck is far too slender. Your mane is much too shiny, and your nostrils are not even one tenth of proper horse size." I was laughing already, but he would not relent. "Your teeth are much too small, your rump too round, your voice too melodious. No, my dear, I am afraid there is no place for you in the stables."

"There is nothing I share in common with a horse? Size, perhaps?" I prodded. Hector pondered, but it was all for show; he would not fall into that trap again.

"There is one thing," he said, and I raised an eyebrow. "Temper."

I swatted his chest and he caught my hand in his own. "Fortunately for me, you do not have a horse's hooves," he chuckled. Grins split our faces until we reached our chambers, where the half-finished cradle in the corner presented too many questions.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought. I'll try to update quickly.


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